Little Things and Second Chances
by Sandra S
Summary: When Mac's life is threatened Harm seeks help from a man he tried to forget: Webb. Heed author's note in profile. COMPLETE
1. Decisions

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Set three years after Hail and Farewell I+II (middle of 2004); ignores any current spoilers, rumors or whatever about the future course of the show and the pairing is _NOT_ HarmMac. If you are all right with nothing but friendship between these two you're welcome, if not you'll probably consider this a waste of time.

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**August 2007, Thursday **

_JAG headquarters, in the afternoon_

"... so check out the names on Vukovic's list, any witness we can come up with is an advantage in this case."

Commander Harmon Rabb, Junior, walked with long strides through the hot bullpen of JAG headquarters while his assistant tried to keep up with him. The read-headed lieutenant junior grade sounded slightly breathless.

"Yes, sir, understood, sir. And sir, a Miss or Mrs. Logan has called back to give you this phone number. She said you'd asked for it."

Harm paused and took the sheet of paper from the young man. The next fan nearly blew it out of his hand but he was glad for the draft of air. Some said it was the hottest summer people remembered but that could be an exaggeration. Nevertheless, in this weather any uniform instantly clung to the body, short sleeved or not, and for the first time the Australian Navy's dress orders had something appealing to Harm. Even General Cresswell, the strict JAG, had actually surrendered that much to the heat that he had allowed a flood of electric fans everywhere in the office as an addition to the - still - old air conditioning. Now any piece of paper had to be secured with files, pens, scissors or staplers but that was better than sweating to a puddle.

"Thank you, Mister Ellis."

"Uhm, sir, she asked me to tell you too ... uhm ... that next time you should look into the telephone book."

"Really?" Harm's eyebrows lifted as he stared down at the piece of paper. It had been in the telephone book? He would have never thought...

Ellis stepped from one foot to the other. "Excuse me, sir ... has this something to do with the Colonel?"

Harm nodded slowly. For a moment he pressed his lips together. "Yes."

"And - and you think this man can help us?"

"If he can't nobody does." Harm sighed and headed for the door of his office.

"Uhm - sir? Sir! You remember the general wants to see you in his office in ten minutes sharp, sir?"

"I do remember, Lieutenant, I actually do."

Harm shut the door behind him and closed the blinds some more before he allowed himself another small sigh. By God, even after three years it still seemed so odd to hear "the general" instead of "the admiral". Seemed so odd that it was Cresswell instead of AJ Chegwidden.

Oh, he and the former SEAL had had their various problems - especially over the last year before Chegwidden's retirement. Sometimes he had been so angry with the other man, hadn't understood his decisions, hadn't understood why he had treated him so unfair after Paraguay, had wanted to yell at him... It had felt good to see him squirm when he had asked him to come back at last. Childish maybe but ... good. He would have never expected to miss him that much, to miss his gruff voice echoing through the bullpen, even to miss his stern glare because of something he had done in the courtroom or outside. To miss his experienced judgment. Not that Cresswell was a bad CO. Not at all. But he was ... different. And he had served under Chegwidden for almost nine years. It had been a long time.

Bracing himself against the door frame for a second Harm watched Ellis walk away very reluctantly. Involuntarily he sighed again. The boy was eager to please but still more than green and ... well, simply no Bud Roberts. And so darn young. They all seemed to be so darn young lately. Or maybe it was he feeling older.

On the other hand ... without the boy and his friendship to Ensign Arden he would have never known ... and he had done his best to help find information. But his best hadn't been enough and despite the urgency Harm couldn't bring himself to call Bud during his hard-earned holiday trip with Harriet and the children. They really needed time together considering how busy the younger man had been lately. Unfortunately that left little other possibilities.

Sitting down behind his desk Harm put his hand on the receiver of his phone but didn't lift it. He glanced down at the piece of paper with the phone number. If he was honest - he didn't want to make this call. Heck, for the past three years he had done his best to avoid even thinking of the man let alone mentioning his name aloud. Too many things were between them. Including Mac.

'For Mac. This is for Mac.'

At this thought Harm jerked the receiver up and dialed quickly. He would not allow his resolve to start wavering. This wasn't about him and his pride - more about Mac and _HER_ pride. Her stupid pride that kept her from seeing the danger. So if _HE_ was the only possibility for-

"Webb residence."

Harm drew in a deep breath. Of course it wasn't Webb himself. People like Clayton Webb had staff to answer their phones even at home.

"Ah - this is Commander Harmon Rabb, Junior. I need to speak to Mister Webb."

"Commander Rabb," the voice repeated after an almost imperceptible pause. Harm wasn't sure if this was the same man he had seen years ago. When he had still called Webb ... almost a friend.

"Yes. Is Mister Webb available?"

The silence was just a tiny bit too long to go unnoticed. But the man's voice was perfectly calm and polite.

"Please hold the line, sir."

Realizing that he was nearly crashing the receiver in a dead grip Harm tried to relax his fingers. It wasn't easy. The need to hang up was overwhelming. But he had come that far, now he wouldn't back down. It had been hard enough to get this number - although it wouldn't have been if he had looked into a directory from the start as Loretta suggested. It would have saved him some frustrating conversations with Langley. From there he had got officially nothing more than the usual statement of neither confirming nor denying, Kershaw had refused to talk to him flat out and he hadn't been able to get past Catherine Gale's firewall - her secretary. But he simply hadn't thought that Clayton Webb's number could be found in a telephone book.

Silently Harm wondered if Webb would talk to him or not. If the man who had answered the phone was any indication ... a _NOT_ seemed to be quite possible.

Well, there was no doubt the end had been dirty. He had heard Mac yell out her frustration back in the kitchen where he had sat with Webb's mother. The woman had said nothing and so had he ... what had there been to say. Webb had hurt the woman he had declared to be in love with in the most cruel and ruthless way by faking his death. He had played with her trust, her emotions, even her life. The wound had gone deep.

Harm still remembered how dark her eyes had been when he had joint her on the beach. Dark, groundless pools in a white face like made of stone. No despair as there had been after Brumby had canceled their wedding and went back to Australia. No tears ... not any more. Just those big, dark, disillusioned eyes... Eyes of a woman who had already seen too much, borne too much, done too much in her life. Old eyes that had almost frightened him in their dark intensity.

But still...

He had never asked Mac if she ever understood the subtle warning in Webb's presents. Mac - who was so good at word games and crossword puzzles. Not that he himself had understood for a long time until it suddenly hit him one night. A merry-go-round as a symbol that history was about to repeat itself - Webb had been reported dead before. The Merry Widow Waltz - a further warning, almost voicing the cruel game aloud but also promising hope for a happy ending. The figurine of two people in love.

He had never told her that if he hadn't punched Webb in the stomach as hard as he could before the other man had been able to finish his first sentence maybe things would have turned out different. That if Tanveer hadn't managed to hit the very same spot maybe Webb would not have gone down like he did.

He had never told her how he had felt when Webb had interrupted his rather pompous speech about how he could have done that to her and that he didn't deserve her and that she and the man from MI6 were searching the house at the moment by hissing through clenched teeth: 'You are an idiot, Harm. Tanveer is the Hawk and the only thing that kept Sarah safe was _NOT KNOWING ABOUT ME!_'

How it had stung when the spy had added acidly - already heading for the house - 'Thank you _SO_ much for helping my killer!'

It clicked in the line.

"Webb."

Harm remained silent for a moment, somehow caught off guard by the sheer familiarity of the voice. And with surprise he noticed that all his well-prepared words had suddenly disappeared.

"Uhm ... hello," he said finally. "It's ... me. Harmon Rabb."

"Yes, I've been told so. What do you want?"

"Why do you think I want something?" Stalling for time, yes, that was a good tactic. At least until he had found his inner balance again.

A moment of silence.

"You really want me to believe this is a social call, Rabb?" Webb's voice practically dripped with sarcasm.

All right, maybe his tactic wasn't that good. Harm fought with all his might against the well-known surge of irrational anger at Webb's short manner.

'Mac,' he reminded himself again, 'this is for Mac.' He took another deep breath.

"No, you're right, it isn't," he acknowledged fairly calm. "I ... need a favor."

"No."

"Webb..."

"Go to hell."

"Someone is threatening Mac's life."

Silence. But the line was still open.

Harm didn't dare breathing. He had put everything on the line - and now he would see if it was enough to keep Webb from hanging up on him. If there was still something left of what he had wanted to deny so firmly in the past, of what he hadn't wanted to acknowledge when he had looked into Mac's eyes before the spy had hurt her so deeply ... on what he was counting now. If the figurine of two people in love had meant something. Had Webb really been in love with her despite his actions? He could almost see the spy, pondering the same question, considering his options...

"Talk. I'll listen."

The air left Harm's lungs in a silent sigh of relief. The first step was taken. Time for the second. Through a gap in the blinds he saw Ellis walking towards his office, glancing at his watch with a worried face.

"Not now, I've got a briefing with General Cresswell in a minute. I'll be at the Memorial in three hours. You know where."

"Wait! Rabb! I've got no intention of -"

Harm hung up quickly. There. That didn't go all that bad, now did it?

* * *

_Webb residence, Virginia, the same time_

"- meeting you in person!" Webb finished his sentence to a dead line.

Exhaling he pulled the receiver off his ear and stared at it. His expression was unreadable. Just once something that could be a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Just once the beginning of a disbelieving shake of his head died away. His eyes were distant as he finally lowered the phone into his lap.

"Harrison?"

"Sir?"

"I need the car ... let's say in two hours. I've got to go to Washington."

There was an audible pause. Then: "Yes, sir. I'll take care of it."

Webb continued staring at the phone and again the shadow of an emotion flickered briefly over his face. It could be anger. It could be anything. Then suddenly his head snapped around as he sensed Harrison still standing there.

"What!"

"Nothing." Harrison closed the door quietly.

Webb grimaced and rubbed a hand across his mouth. Then his face stilled again as if it had become tired of any expression over the years.

Whatever had been. However he felt about it. He could not ignore the dark seriousness in Rabb's voice ... or the urgency in the simple fact that the other man had called at all after all these years. He couldn't.


	2. Conversations

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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August 2007, Thursday

_- Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Washington D.C. _

Harm reached out gently but didn't touch the name on the wall. Even now - in bright evening sunlight of August and not in the darkness of a cold December - the power of all these names sent a shiver down his spine. From time to time he wondered what had happened to the wings of his father he had left here. Those wings a strange old woman had given back to him at Christmas Eve a long time ago. Maybe a guard had taken them together with all these other gifts along the wall to keep them safe. Maybe some thief without respect. It was better not to think too much about things like that.

Turning away Harm scanned the crowd; glad for the little shade his cover offered his eyes. It was still hot and the sun stung. Amazingly hot for the time. He wiped sweat from his upper lip.

"Come on, Webb, where are you?"

He wondered if the past three years had changed Webb's appearance even if they hadn't changed his voice. Glancing back at the name of his father, its position so well known to him, he started to feel more and more uncomfortable with his own choice of place. Too many memories of countless visits were attached to those letters.

Of years when he hadn't known his father's fate and he had made this simple writing on a wall to his personal shrine. How often had he stood here wondering, torturing himself with unanswered questions and his inability to find out the truth. Then - later - he had paid more peaceful visits; silently telling his dad about the things happening in his life, important to him. He remembered the Christmas Eve Mac had brought Mattie here, after she had stood up for him in order to get him guardianship for the girl. He remembered the evening he had missed his traditional visit because Mac had ended up in hospital. And he remembered the one night Sergei had waited for him after Webb had bought him free out of a prisoner's camp in Chechnya.

For a long time Harm hadn't allowed himself to think of this, to acknowledge the debt he owed to this uncommunicative, devious, ruthless and on occasions right out annoying man who had popped in and out of his life for almost eight years. Hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge that the sudden tailspin the other man's career had taken was caused by a favor for ... him. Not since Paraguay.

Paraguay had been a turning point in his life in more than just one way. It had almost wrecked his career in the Navy. It had led to working for the CIA for a while ... something he would have declared impossible to fit with his morality and principles even a few weeks before it happened. It had in the end led to his guardianship for Mattie and the realization how much someone like her could mean to him. And for the first time he had thought that he fully understood his feelings for Mac ... only to be rejected.

That kiss he had witnessed - between _HIS_ Mac and Webb - it had shattered something. It had made him angry ... and acting like an idiot. Saying things like an idiot. Not only there but for almost a year. He should have known that it was the wrong way to treat a proud woman like Mac ... especially considering their history together. And when he had finally come to his senses his timing had been more than bad. All right, it had been really tactless to make a move as long as Webb had not even been officially buried but he had been so eager not to waste this unexpected gift of a second chance...

No, if he was honest his punch in Webb's stomach hadn't been all about Mac. Part of it had been about him, about his - yet again - wounded pride, about his embarrassment and guilt and anger that he had made once more a fool out of himself when it came to Mac. But somehow even that had turned out to be OK when Mac had broken up with the spy despite all her actions and words earlier.

He had done his best to show her that he was willing to give her all the time she needed to sort things out. He had rushed to her hospital bed when she had had that accident and his heart had jumped in his chest as their hands met. Nevertheless, nothing serious had happened for several months ... at first. They had played it by the book this time. Dating a little, talking a little, doing things together - well, as much as possible considering their workload and the boundaries of their duty. Arranging their careers and assignments. He had stayed at JAG headquarters and she had taken a position in the Pentagon as the opportunity occurred in May. Things had stayed busy but they hadn't minded. Even when they had barely seen each other once a week. The day he had proposed to her had been one of the best in his life. It still was one of the best in his life next to their golden September wedding three months later. For the rest ... they were probably both to blame.

Shaking his head Harm walked a bit up and down the dark wall. To distract himself he paid more attention to the people around him. Where was Webb anyway? He was running late. There was a man in a suit... No, it wasn't him. Group of tourists, pupils with a teacher, man in a wheelchair, man with a baby carriage, a couple with two children, a...

Harm's mind went completely blank. A second he simply stared straight ahead then his head snapped back around. His jaw dropped.

Webb finished his slow approach and craned his neck to look up at the much taller man. He waited some time then sighed impatiently.

"Rabb, are you going to close that mouth anytime soon?"

No response.

"Rabb? I really don't have all day."

Harm's lips moved but no sound came out.

"I thought you've said Mac is in trouble."

Harm blinked several times but still got nothing out. His brain simply refused to comprehend what he was seeing.

"Oh, darn it." Webb rolled his eyes and turned the wheelchair in a motion that showed great practice. "You're wasting my time!"

Harm just continued staring. Clayton Webb - in a wheelchair! Involuntarily he rubbed his eyes. Blinking again he finally noticed that the other man was moving away from him and somehow kicked himself into action. As he ran after him he found his voice.

"Good God, Clay ... what did happen?"

Webb gritted his teeth and turned the wheels a little bit faster.

"This - this isn't... I mean ... this - this is temporary, isn't it?" Harm stuttered out the first thing that came to his mind.

Webb's hands hovered a second over the wheels before he pushed them with more force.

"Temporary? I guess you could say that. We are all mortal in the end."

Harm winced inwardly. Oh God, it _WAS_ permanent!

"What did happen?" he repeated too stunned to think of anything else.

Webb glared at him and kept turning the wheels.

"Was it a mission? A sniper? A bomb?"

"For heaven's sake, Rabb! Lower your voice you're drawing attention!" Webb hissed practically fuming.

"What-"

"An overtired driver! You're satisfied? A damn overtired driver who didn't know when it was time to hail a cap instead of getting behind the steering wheel, all right?"

"Oh," Harm whispered still shocked. "They - they got him?"

"Who?"

"The driver."

"He was hard to miss."

"What did he get?"

Webb stopped. "What?"

"What did he get? The driver? I mean, he was sentenced, wasn't he?"

"That's the lawyer talking?"

"Webb..."

"That's pretty sick, you know that?" Webb moved forward again.

Harm shook his head to clear it and hurried up to him again. "Webb... Yes, maybe, but - if he got out easy maybe I can-"

"He got enough."

"What?"

"Rabb-"

"Darn it, Clayton, what did he get?"

"Life in a wheelchair." Webb only mumbled.

"He ... too?"

Webb looked up and quickly away. And Harm stopped dead in his tracks as he realized the truth. Involuntarily he gasped.

"Oh. Oh, Clay ... I'm so so-"

"_DON'T YOU DARE_!" Webb practically spun the wheelchair around, his face white with fury. He was almost screaming, pronouncing each word with an accusing finger. "Don't you dare pity me! I don't need this from you! I don't need this from anybody! So don't you dare and pity me!"

They stared at each other, panting, until they realized the eyes watching them curiously. With a curse Webb turned his wheelchair again and started pushing. Closing his eyes for a second Harm swallowed and followed slowly.

Several minutes they walked - or rolled - in silence. Harm kept sneaking glances at the other man but said nothing. Afraid to upset Webb even more if he did. At a loss of words. And for the first time since they knew each other willing to give the other man all the time he needed.

Finally Webb's tightly set jaw seemed to loosen a bit and without a word he stopped at a bench and put on the brakes. He stared down at his hands. Harm hesitated a second then sat down, making a small face as he felt the hot wood through his pants. The sun was mercilessly burning down on them despite the fact that it was already past six o'clock ... probably the reason why the bench was empty. They avoided looking at each other.

"Tell me about Mac's problems." Webb's voice was perfectly calm again as he finally broke the silence.

Harm drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You know that Mac is a judge now?"

"I didn't. I'm not keeping tabs on you."

The unspoken 'any more' hung between them.

"Well, she is - since she was promoted to full rank Colonel and returned to JAG headquarters," Harm continued after a short pause.

Webb's gaze swept up briefly to check Harm's insignia. The Navy commander noticed it.

"No, I'm still commander. She's outranking me now." A wry grin flickered across his face but quickly he grew serious again. "Mac's presiding a court martial at the moment. An enlisted Marine has taken an amtrack without permission and drowned it - a pretty clear thing as far as I know."

Webb snorted. "Sounds like one of those cases you used to defend."

"Funny, Webb, really funny." It was Harm's turn for a short glare. "Not this time. Sturgis - Sturgis Turner - is prosecuting and Tiner is defending. You remember Tiner?"

"My memory is intact, thank you. Somehow Tiner is a remaining impression. He's actually a lawyer now?"

"Surprising, isn't it? It's one of his first cases and he actually has talent although he will lose that one."

"So what? To me everything sounds quite normal."

"It should be but ... Mac has been receiving harassing letters throughout the hearing. The type of: 'If you don't set him free you will pay for it...' With a lot of meaningful '...' at the end. The trial takes a bit longer than usual because two witnesses had an accident and their testimonies were delayed."

"What about the jury?"

"No jury here it's a military judge only court martial. This is possible if requested by the accused."

"Because somebody's expected that one person would be easier to handle?"

For a moment they looked at each other. Then Harm nodded.

"The thought occurred to me, yes."

Webb pursed his lips. "I guess there's an investigation?"

"Not directly that's the problem."

"Not directly? One of your judges is threatened and JAG does nothing?"

"Oh, they do ... more or less. They have staff to investigate such occurrences and a priority list. Looks like things like that happen to judges every now and then. Mac reported the letters but didn't make it urgent. She doesn't think it's necessary. She thinks this is a bad joke with nothing behind it."

"Maybe she's right?"

Harm slowly shook his head. "No. There's something about these letters ... something serious that ... scares me. I can't explain it rationally but ... this is no bad joke. I just know it. And there's more. This Marine... There was a visitor in the courtroom. The day Mac received the first letter. And later again."

"Very suspicious."

"Oh, quit it, will you? In a nutshell, I got his name from the visitor's list when I started to look into this and wanted to check him out just in case. Looks like he was a Marine too once ... but his record is sealed - and not by the Navy."

Again the two men looked at each other.

"Any idea who did it?" Webb asked finally.

"I narrowed it down to FBI or CIA ... I think. That's why I need you. My acquaintances at the Federal Bureau of Investigation are at the moment ... a little bit closed up."

"Well, what did you expect?" Webb rolled his eyes. "After last month? Nobody likes to be the bad boy."

"I thought you don't keep tabs on us." Harm raised an accusing eyebrow.

"I don't but it was unfortunately impossible to escape the headlines." Webb rimmed imaginary letters with his hands. "'Navy Commander show's FBI how to investigate a case!' Or: 'Showdown in the courtroom!' Oh, I especially liked: 'Does Director Manfield has to take his hat?' Really, Harm."

"OK, OK, it went a little bit out of control, I admit that. But they _HAD_ screwed up."

"Whatever. Have you tried to talk to this man?"

"I _DID_ talk to him. Wasn't very successful. An expression like a stone. Asked me if I was accusing him in any way ... there was little I could do in a crowded corridor besides giving him a stern look although I really wanted to."

"Hmm. Have you told Mac about the sealed file?"

"Of course. She told me to mind my own business. My ex-wife can be so unbelievable stubborn."

"You really don't have to tell me- Did you say ex?"

Harm saw the shocked look on Webb's face. "You didn't know that?"

"I - I... No! What -? I mean - how -? I mean ... _DIVORCED_?"

"This spring. But we had been separated for months before that."

"Oh my God. That's- Uhm- Oh my God." Webb looked anywhere in blank confusion but at the man on the bench, blushing suddenly deeply for some unknown reason.

Harm studied his hands very thoroughly. Nevertheless, he saw out of the corner of his eye how Webb ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to regain control. And after some more minutes he felt his questioning gaze.

"Uhm..."

"Let's just say you can't eat fish all the time and leave it that way. All right?" Harm felt suddenly very tired.

"Ah - OK. Sure."

They sat in silence. The sun was burning down on them. Harm checked his fingernails for a change. No, he still hadn't figured out why they hadn't meant to be so he guessed their different eating habits were as good an explanation as anything else. And maybe that was all there had to be. Someone who ate anything could agree to settle for a dish without meat but a vegetarian couldn't return the favor just as easy. Someone who wasn't all that interested in museums could nevertheless spend an afternoon there for the sake of family peace but someone who didn't like flying had much more problems getting on a plane. Maybe they had really failed in the little things. And after they had started fighting it had been too late anyway.

God, yes, they had always been so good at fighting. They hadn't talked for almost a year after Mac had moved out only six months after the wedding, hadn't seen each other until they had filed for divorce. Only work at JAG headquarters had forced them back to speaking terms. Something he was ... grateful for.

Harm couldn't help it that his eyes slowly wandered towards Webb's legs right at the corner of his field of vision. What a strange joke that the man who had survived being a hostage in Columbia, Clark Palmer, torture from the hands of Sadik Fahd, Tanveer's attempt on his life and whatever more ... had ended up in a wheelchair because he fell asleep behind the steering wheel. Where was the sense in that? But then again maybe there wasn't any supposed to be.

Again Harm considered Webb's legs under his eyelashes. They looked so normal, clad in a pair of light grey pants, the shoes would have gone with any of the spy's favorite three-piece suits too. Involuntarily his gaze traveled higher, over the white sleeveless shirt and the fashionable leather vest - that was really so typically Webb. The other man was taking in their surroundings, squinting his eyes against the sun. Harm wondered idly if it was training that had become an unconscious reflex or just the easiest way to avoid looking his direction. As if Webb had read his thoughts he turned his head and their eyes met. Quickly both men looked away again.

"Give me the name," Webb said finally as none of them was able to bear the silence any longer.

Harm reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Webb took it out of his hand and unfolded it, his eyes wandered over the writing.

"Well, I've got to call in favors ... and some of them are rather old." Webb glanced at his watch and grimaced. "Past six... If I call now they are even older." He shook his head and looked at Harm. "Tomorrow is Friday and with this heat a lot of people will probably try and start the weekend early. I'll do what I can but I'll guarantee for nothing. How long will the hearing last?"

"I can probably persuade Sturgis into dragging it out a little but... Maybe verdict on Monday and sentence on Tuesday?"

Webb grimaced again. "I'll do what I can," he repeated.

"That's all I'm asking for." Harm got up and immediately felt sweat running down his temple. His pants were wet at the back. A thought hit him. "Uhm - Webb... You're still in the agency or are you...? I mean ..."

"I'm ... retired for health reasons. As long as they don't need me to find a special file for them that is."

"Oh."

"You can say that." Webb grabbed the wheels but hesitated. "And Rabb?"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell her about me."

Harm looked at him. Webb's gaze darted around then focused a second on his face before it wandered off again.

"I mean it. You will not tell her about me."

Harm bit back any question. "All right."

Webb simply nodded. After a heartbeat he started turning the wheels.

Harm stood there a moment longer, following the other man with his eyes. And this time he didn't feel the heat of the sun.


	3. Facts

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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**August 2007, Friday**

_- JAG headquarters, early afternoon _

"The accused and his defense may rise."

Mac - Colonel Sarah 'Mac' Mackenzie - quickly consulted her inner clock. Darn it, she would be late for her meeting with Captain Sebring. She really hadn't thought this case would take more than this morning but God only knew what had gotten into Turner... Oh, well, whatever. She'll get it over with today, spent some time of her weekend to verify what she had in mind for punishment - not that there were many possibilities - and close this court on Monday. Hopefully it would be cooler then.

She refocused on the young face beside Tiner.

"Private first class Christopher Vendell, this court finds you guilty of the following charges..." Quickly she listed the paragraphs and their descriptions, reading from her notes. "Sentencing will commence Monday 1130. Court is in recess."

She banged her gavel and rose from her seat. As she left the courtroom she noticed that the young Marine had turned obviously upset to his defense. Tiner had a hard time calming him down. The disturbingly cold look of the only visitor in the courtroom escaped her attention.

Once outside Mac allowed herself to shake her head. What had that boy expected? He had destroyed some thousands of US dollars, disobeyed orders and endangered not only himself but three other people too. The evidence had been devastating. Sometimes she really wondered what might go on in heads like his.

"Ma'am? Here are the files for your meeting with Captain Sebring. This phone call came in while you have been in court and may I take this?"

"Yes, thank you, Nancy."

Mac traded files with her assistant and smiled warmly at the ensign. She reminded her very much of the young Harriet Sims despite her dark hair. It was the same mixture of dedication, charm and curiosity. And like Harriet she tended to be a little bit too nosy every now and then. Nevertheless, she knew she could consider herself lucky as long as she would have her. But, God, she seemed to be so young. Sometimes they all seemed to be so young. Or maybe it was just she feeling older.

"I don't think I'll need you afterwards so there's no reason for you to stay longer too. Especially in this heat. Have a good weekend."

"Thank you, ma'am. I will." Ensign Arden came to attention and smiled.

Mac had already taken off down the corridor her heels hammering a steady rhythm on the floor. Since she had become a regular judge her life was even more hectic than ever before but she liked it. Being busy prevented her from thinking too much. From remembering. From regretting.

Oh, and there were lots of things to regret.

The loss of her deepest wish: To have children of her own. What a joke. Endosmosis. Sometimes even the fact that it hadn't been the dreaded cancer didn't console her much considering that she was - and had maybe always been - infertile. And four percent had turned out to be not enough.

Then there was her marriage with Harm. Just the thought was enough to bring back the pain she had felt over and over again. After all those years they had finally, finally taken the last step ... and they had spoiled it. Somehow she had forgotten an important fact: Yes, a place didn't change who one was - but neither did a marriage. People didn't change who they were just because they were married. People didn't stop hurting each other just because of a marriage especially when it had always happened unintentionally or without knowing it by some casually spoken words... She had been such a fool.

She couldn't even blame it on Harm alone although she really wished she could from time to time. It would make things ... easier. But it wouldn't be fair. It always took two. Two who were not careful enough, two to misinterpret the things that were said or done. Two to fight with each other. They had always been so good at fighting with each other. She should have listened to herself. Should have listened to her own words after Paraguay. Some things _WERE_ impossible. Physically and emotionally. Like being on top at the same time.

Taking a deep breath Mac shoved these thoughts aside. She had become very good at shoving things aside. It kept her sane.

Steeling herself Mac tucked a short strand of hair behind her ear and knocked at the door of the conference room. She couldn't help being a little bit nervous as she entered. She was a judge herself now but to face Sebring still brought back the old respect she had always felt in his courtroom. And the fact that he was on the brink of becoming a rear admiral lower half didn't help much.

"Captain Sebring, sorry I'm late. The Vendell case took longer than expected."

"Not at all, Colonel. Have a seat."

They sat down and Sebring frowned.

"The Vendell case... Isn't that that one where you have received anonymous letters? Three if I remember correctly."

"Four now, sir."

"Four! I think we should-"

"Sir, with all due respect. I still don't think we must take this overly seriously. Vendell might be angry and upset but he - well, simply isn't the type to make good of a threat. Commander Sturgis agrees with me in that case."

"Well, we'll see. If there're more letters - even just one - we'll put that up to the top of the investigation list. This is getting past of what is tolerable. Now, back to business..."

Glad to be off the hook Mac shuffled her notes while Sebring put on his reading glasses. She felt uncomfortable about those letters but on the other hand really didn't want to draw that much attention to it. She was still new in her position and if General Cresswell got the impression she'd freak out at the slightest problem... Although Cresswell had shown her years ago that he was willing to let the past rest that didn't mean he would not monitor any of her steps if necessary. No, no, it was better to play it down at the moment.

Shaking these thoughts off she concentrated entirely on the task at hand. It really was an honor to take care of Sebring's cases while he would be on holiday but considering that it needed three briefings to hand them over... An hour later her head was reeling from all the things she would have to do.

Wishing Sebring a good time Mac headed for her office, flipping through her notes. Thank God she was able to find her way through the corridors of JAG headquarters on autopilot. Still totally occupied and her eyes firmly glued to the papers she reached the right door, pushed it open and stepped in.

Her foot hit something unusual.

It sounded wet.

Then she smelled it.

Slowly Mac shifted her files to the side so she was able to look down. Her left shoe stood in a red puddle. As she lifted her head her gaze swept through the office and she gasped.

_

* * *

_

_JAG headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia_

Harm stormed recklessly through the crowd gathered in the corridors leading to the offices of the judges.

"Where is Colonel Mackenzie? Has anybody seen Colonel Mackenzie?"

He glanced in her office and pressed his lips together.

"Sergeant, have you seen-"

"I think she's in the ladies' room."

Harm turned on his heel and made a bee-line for the mentioned facilities. Pushing the door open he walked right in.

"Mac?"

"Didn't you notice the sign on the door?"

Mac stood in front of the sinks and held one of her shoes in her hand, rubbing it with some paper towels. She didn't look at her former partner and husband.

"I told you! I told you this is no joke! Do you believe me _NOW?_"

"Harm. This is paint! Red paint!" Mac waved her shoe in front of his face. "It isn't like someone murdered a cat in my office or something. It just smells as if I redecorated it."

"By splashing paint all over your desk, chairs, walls and the floor!"

"You know what I mean." Mac returned to rubbing her shoe.

"You're taking this not seriously enough!"

"I'm taking it seriously! This will go up at the top of the priority list and whoever did it will regret it dearly. I'm just not overreacting."

"You will not stay alone in your apartment this weekend."

"Excuse me?" Mac spun around.

"You will _NOT STAY ALONE_ in your apartment this weekend! It's too dangerous."

"First and most of all this is _NOT_ your decision and second I will not allow anybody to rule my life with hollow threats-"

"Mac, someone has just painted the words 'you will pay for that' on the wall of your office!"

"I'm a Marine; I can take care of myself! A fact you have never got into your head!"

"Now you're acting like a child!"

Instantly Harm regretted his words. Quickly he held up his hands just as Mac lifted the shoe, ready to throw it at him.

"No, Mac, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Darn it, you know how I am."

"All too well," grumbled Mac but lowered her weapon. Sighing she reluctantly admitted to herself that her former partner was probably right.

"Fine. I see your point. I'll spend the weekend in a hotel."

"You shouldn't be alone."

"Harm-," Mac started warningly but was interrupted by a different voice.

"In that I agree with Commander Rabb."

Turning in surprise they found Captain Sebring standing in the doorway. They blushed simultaneously. Sebring ignored their embarrassment.

"This is getting out of control. Maybe I should order one of the guards to accompany you for the weekend..."

"Sir, this really isn't necessary."

"Sir, if I may make a suggestion: I can cancel my weekend plans and take care that-"

"Oh, no, you will not! I will _NOT_ stay at your apartment and you will _NOT_ cancel your trip to San Diego! Coates said you _PROMISED_ your mother you'll come to Frank's birthday this time and if you excuse yourself again she'll forgive you in about a hundred years if ever! _I_ will _NOT_ be to blame for that!"

"Mac!"

"Harm!"

Sebring cleared his throat loudly, ending the argument effectively.

"I'd say that's enough. You two are worse than you have ever been in the courtroom!" He glared at Harm. "Commander, I don't think your suggestion is the best solution in this case." He turned to Mac. "But Colonel, you will not be alone this weekend and that's an order. Unfortunately General Cresswell has already left but I think my authority should be enough for that. Otherwise I'm sure I can reach him on his cell phone if necessary..."

"No," Mac assured hastily, "No, of course this is not necessary. I'm sure I can find something - uh - suitable."

"Good. I will leave it in your hands but call me as soon as you've made your arrangements. Colonel. Commander." With a last glare Sebring stepped outside and allowed the door to fall shut.

Involuntarily Harm and Mac exhaled at the same time then glanced at each other.


	4. Surprises

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Friday

_- Parking lot of JAG headquarters, later _

"All right." Mac headed for her car, juggling her full briefcase, a handbag and the keys. "I'll drive to my apartment, pack a few things and..."

"What happened to the Marine who always had a bag in her car?" Harm cocked an eyebrow.

"I still always have a bag in my car," retorted Mac slightly irritated.

Harm smirked and opened the passenger door of his corvette. Mac looked at him.

"Harm..."

"Humor me."

Mac huffed but took the bag out of the trunk of her car and walked up to him.

"Why are you doing this?"

Harm shrugged. "Old habit?"

"I will not stay at your apartment."

"Your decision."

"This is ridiculous."

"Maybe."

Muttering darkly Mac got into the car. Harm closed the door, shook his head and slipped quickly behind the steering wheel. They left the parking lot.

"Slow down, I've got to think about where I'm going," ordered Mac.

"We could ask Sturgis."

"No. I'm judge in a case he's prosecuting for heaven's sake!"

"Bud and Harriet?"

"Harm, first you insist that it's too dangerous for me and then you suggest dragging them and the kids into this? Besides, I will not drive all the way up to Canada just for this weekend."

"Well, you could take a plane but you're probably right."

"You know damn well that I'm right. And don't even try and suggest Coates."

"I'm sure Jennifer wouldn't mind helping."

"Jennifer maybe not but her husband. Newly-weds can be a bit strange about things like that. No, I've got to think of something else..." Mac's cell phone rang and interrupted her. "Hello? Chloe! What -? What? Chloe ... Chloe slow down. Slow down, I can't understand a single word!"

Harm stopped at a crossing, looked left, right and hesitated. His gaze flickered over to Mac. She pressed her cell to one ear and a hand to the other and listened with forced concentration to her "little sister's" newest relationship crisis. Involuntarily he chewed on his lip. Then he turned abruptly to the right. Glancing at his passenger again he speeded up a bit more. Mac kept talking and listening, ignoring her surroundings. Harm took some more turns, nearly got lost once but recognized the right road in time. It had really been a while since his last visit here. Mac was trying to persuade Chloe that one day without a call from her boyfriend wasn't the end of the world even if the boy was the sweetest, nicest and most handsome guy of her high school and "that Penny Parker" was having an eye on him. He started counting the gates.

"... maybe his father has taken him for a short trip or something. Yes. Yes, I do believe that. Yes. Love you too. Bye." Sighing Mac finally put the cell down and shoved it back into her handbag. She looked up and around. "Sorry, Harm, I really don't know...," she trailed off and her eyes widened. "What? W-Where -? H-Harm?"

"The perfect place. Secured, safe and probably with dogs in the garden."

Harm pulled up at the gate and rung the bell. A security camera was watching them. Thank God Mac was speechless for once and just sputtered. It gave him time to call "Commander Harmon Rabb for Mister Webb" into the intercom.

"No. No! Harm, you can't... I can't... Stop! Stop!"

Driving a little bit faster than appropriate towards the house Harm held the steering wheel tighter. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

"This is really the best solution, you must see that. Knowing Webb he's got a security system like Fort Knox. Besides, he agrees with me that the sealed file is highly suspicious."

"But I can't - we can't... Agrees? Agrees? You've talked with Clay about... You talked with _CLAY_?"

"He's checking out his sources."

"You - you - you-" Mac slammed her hand against the dashboard. "You - _WHAT_? I can't believe this! What have you been thinking?"

Harm stopped in front of the stairway to the entrance and got out. Looking up he found an older version of the man who had let him in eight years ago standing in the door. The man's face was like made of stone. Sighing he walked around his car and opened the passenger's door.

"Mac, please."

Mac practically clung to the dashboard and shook her head violently. Heat colored her cheeks.

"I can't. I c-can't. I can't ask this," she whispered. "What must this look like? What must I look like...?"

Oblivious to the arguing couple a dog jogged across the lawn and over the driveway, climbing up the stairs.

"Mac... Someone is threatening you life and you think about-"

"Dammit?"

"Oh, yes, maybe, damn it!" Harm exploded. "Get killed if you are that stubborn! Get-"

"No, no, I mean: Dammit?"

"Huh?" Harm turned just in time to see the dog slip past the butler's legs into the house. He blinked. "Was that...?"

"Looked like it." Mac swung her legs out of the car.

They exchanged a disbelieving glance. Chegwidden's dog ... in Webb's house?

Lifting his shoulders an inch Harm started up the steps and Mac followed. The man in the entrance awaited them with a slight frown on his face. Mac immediately blushed again. She really didn't know what to expect from the old, loyal Webb employee, considering. She didn't know how _SHE_ would treat her if positions were reversed.

"Harrison," she greeted hesitantly.

"Colonel Mackenzie, Commander..." Harrison's gaze swept the driveway. "Someone is threatening your life?"

"Yeah, she's managed to attract the attention of a stalker. Again," muttered Harm and rolled his eyes.

Mac spun around; her embarrassment of being here instantly forgotten.

"What did you just say?"

"Uhm..." A little bit late Harm bit his tongue.

"So now it's my fault again? Well, that's just typically you! Mister I'm-so-infallible! All right, let's talk about Clark Palmer then! Or would you prefer Theodore Lindsey?"

"Mac, I didn't mean to-"

"No, you didn't mean to! You never mean to! That's exactly the problem, Harm, you _NEVER_ mean to!" Mac screamed angrily and wiped tears from her eyes. Too many things had happened today, putting her nerves on edge. With rising panic she felt a sob well up in her throat.

"I - ah - go and inform Mister Webb that you are here," Harrison announced and turned. But not without giving them a strange look.

The silence in the hallway was heavy. Mac brushed a hand over her face. Now more angry with herself that she had allowed the tears to show than with her former husband. Taking a calming breath she looked around to distract herself. The only time she had been here she hadn't paid much attention - she had really had other things on her mind. But she was sure the elevator attached to the rail up the stairs hadn't been there. Porter Webb seemed to have become more fragile with the years.

Harm noticed the direction of her look and jumped. He suddenly realized that he had forgotten to mention a small but important detail. But well, what could he say? Mac still managed to ... confuse him.

"Uhm, Mac, there's something I should tell..."

Just this moment the dog reappeared from somewhere in the house, licking its mouth and sprinkling drops of water on the floor. It considered them with a look that could be only described as mildly uninterested politeness and wagged its tail twice. This time there was no doubt that it was really Dammit, the dog of Harm and Mac's former superior. She trotted off in the same direction as Harrison.

"What the heck is going on here?" Harm asked no one in particular.

"Good question," replied Mac. "Let's find out."

They followed the dog. Looking at each other they accelerated their steps as a familiar voice drifted out of a door Harrison had just opened.

"... all right, one more. Come on, one more. Yes, come on, you can do it..."

They stopped in the doorway. Harrison sensed their presence behind him and turned in surprise, unintentionally clearing their view as he did. They stood stunned, staring into a room that was equipped like a small gym. Big windows overlooked the rear garden.

"Ah, Mac," Harm started once more, "What I wanted to tell you was..."

Webb was doing slow pull-ups at a bar - his eyes closed from the effort to lift his body only with the strength of his arms and shoulders - and just brought his chin over the metal. Admiral AJ Chegwidden, retired, former SEAL, former Judge Advocate General, stood in front of him ready to assist if necessary. His still broad back was to the door as he encouraged the younger man to go on.

"Good, Clayton, good. And down again."

Webb grimaced, started to lower his body then blinked. His eyes fell on the group at the door and widened in shock. Involuntarily his grip slipped.

"Whoa!" Chegwidden quickly wrapped his arms around Webb's waist. "Whoa. I've got you. It's all right." He felt the other man tremble as he eased him down into the wheelchair. "Hey, it's OK, you should have told me that you..." Then he saw Webb's face. He spun around. And for the first time his body wasn't blocking the view.

Mac cried out and clapped her hands over her mouth. Any color drained from her face.

"... that Webb has had an accident," Harm finished rather late into the sudden silence.

If looks could kill he would have been dead already. The heat of Webb's glare made the temperature outside almost chilly. Then the former spy grabbed abruptly into the wheels, opened the brakes and turned away.

"It - it's an emergency," Harm added contritely.

Chegwidden's eyes wandered back and forth between the door and the man in the wheelchair - running shaking fingers through his hair - and heaved a sigh. Grabbing a towel he threw it into Webb's lap then crossed his arms in a well known gesture.

"Colonel, sit down before you'll faint on us. Commander, I suggest you explain."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir." Involuntarily Harm relapsed into old habits as he hastily obeyed the order and related the events of the day, including their search for a safe place to stay for Mac. At this point he risked a nervous look at her but she was still too shocked for her usual sharp comments. In fact she seemed more confused than he had ever seen her and hadn't said a single word since she had practically fallen on the next chair.

"Wait a minute, when did this thing with the letters start?" Chegwidden frowned and glanced critically at Webb who was still looking in the other direction. The sudden tension in his shoulders didn't escape AJ's attention but he said nothing. Instead he listened carefully as Harm repeated most of what he had told Webb yesterday then asked some quick questions - proving that his retirement had impaired neither his ability to cut down to the point nor his knowledge of JAG's internal ways.

"So the investigation is up now. Good, it's always difficult to decide how to handle this kind of threat best," he stated at last. Once more he looked at the man in the wheelchair. "Any results so far, Webb?"

The former spy shook his head.

"Well, uhm, yes, and that's why I thought Mac could stay here..." Harm offered an uncomfortable shrug and trailed off.

For the first time Mac lifted her head. She swallowed.

"I-"

"Of course she will stay here for the weekend," Webb interrupted sharply and turned the wheelchair back around. "Anything else is too dangerous. Harrison, please prepare a room."

"But I... Will not Porter have a say in that?" Mac protested half-heartedly.

Dead silence.

"Clay?" She glanced around. Harrison and Chegwidden were looking extremely uncomfortable. "Sir?"

"My mother is in a special facility since she had a stroke last year," Webb explained without any expression in his voice.

Mac inhaled sharply and Harm closed his eyes for a second.

"I'll prepare the room." Harrison not directly turned on his heel but it was close. "Colonel, do you need anything for the night? Clothes, shoes, a toothbrush?"

Webb and Mac started at his words and their eyes met only to dart away immediately.

"I - I've got her bag in my car. I'll get it." Harm tried to hide his relief to get away. Without much success.

Watching his abrupt retreat Mac slowly got back up. Her hands kept unnecessarily smoothing the front of her uniform shirt down. She cleared her throat, gulped, cleared her throat a second time, shuffled her feet.

"I - ah - I guess I'll ... get my briefcase then."

She gestured over her shoulder, nodded to herself, made a step backwards, gestured again, turned and practically run from the room in her haste to follow Harm. No doubt with the intention of doing some serious damage to her former partner.

The former JAG and Webb remained behind. For a long moment none of them spoke. Finally Chegwidden picked up a towel for himself and brushed it across his face then flung it over his shoulder. Turning he crossed his arms again. Webb pretended not to see it, rubbing his fingers and staring blankly into space. AJ pursed his lips.

"Well? Why didn't you tell me that you talked with Rabb yesterday?"

Webb pressed his lips together and avoided his eyes. "I'm actually surprised Harrison didn't inform you. Normally he can't keep his mouth shut around you."

"Lack of time I guess. Don't try to distract me."

"Why didn't you tell me that they got divorced?"

Chegwidden breathed slowly. He took his time to reach for a pot of iced tea standing on a table and pour a glass before he answered.

"Might have had something to do with the fact that you usually nearly bite my head off whenever I mention her?"

Webb grimaced. Then he searched AJ's gaze. "I'm sorry."

Chegwidden sipped his tea. "Water under the bridge, Clay." He smiled lightly. "Now get into some dry clothes before you'll catch a cold."

Webb snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yesss, sssir."

AJ grinned at the rebellious tone and finished off the rest of his tea before he started walking out of the room.

"AJ?" Webb fiddled with the towel. "Why - why don't you stay too for the night instead of going home? That way ... that way you wouldn't have to drive by and drop Dammit off tomorrow."

The former admiral turned in the doorway and looked back. But the younger man's eyes were glued to the towel in his hands. For a moment Chegwidden glanced down the corridor then he nodded gently. His face was unreadable.

"Sure, Clay. No problem."


	5. Memories

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Saturday

_- Webb residence, Virginia, early morning _

Mac quickly finished tying her sneakers which she always kept in her bag and quietly opened the door of her room. A moment she looked the corridor up and down before she turned towards the stairs. Three years ago during her - her affair with Clay she had never entered the house of Webb's youth ... not until the very end. He had never really offered and she had never really asked ... or wanted to ask. The idea of coming here had ... intimidated her. Or maybe the prospect of meeting Porter Webb.

From all she had heard the composed old lady - of best old east coast breed - had had to be so different than her own mother. So ... different. So full of control - a quality the woman who had left her behind as a child had lacked ... and sometimes she too. Everything about her - her style, her casual elegance, her wealth - whatever Mac had seen, peering around the corner so to speak, had reminded her of the things she simply wasn't in her own eyes despite the façade she presented the world. She had felt smaller in comparison with Porter Webb. A feeling she had never liked and - as she had to admit - that often led to overreactions from her side.

Mac sighed involuntarily. Yes, maybe she had thought that Porter Webb would have looked down on her because of her heritage, her upbringing, her sometimes really screwed up life ... that she would have considered her unworthy of her son. She had been sure of it after she had finally met her, first grieving over Webb's supposed death then searching for him.

The other woman had been so polite. So reasonable. And had lied with each word directly into her face.

God, she had been so angry afterwards. After she had found out that it had all been a set up, all a lie. Angry at Webb, angry at his mother, Kershaw, the world... Angry and hurt.

But now ... maybe it had been she who had interpreted things the wrong way. Time and distance had given her much opportunity to think things over. To divide her pain and ... yes, all right, her wounded pride from the facts as they were. She couldn't deny that those lies had saved Clay's life up to the point where she had stepped in. That _SHE_ had led Tanveer to his hiding place and almost got him killed. It didn't justify his - their - actions towards her. Their lack of trust. But maybe it explained them. It surely explained Porter Webb's. She was his mother. And mothers tended to do anything to keep their children safe.

Mac paused with one hand on the rail and stared at the opposite wall. Strange, but somehow she would welcome an opportunity to talk to the other woman one more time. Just to find out what had been real and what imagination.

Shaking herself out of her dark thoughts Mac walked quietly downstairs. She was glad about her former CO's suggestion to go jogging first thing in the morning. Although it had nearly floored her. Admiral AJ Chegwidden spent the night in the same house as Clayton Webb - voluntarily? And obviously not for the first time? That had been a shock!

And not the only one of the evening. Dinner had been ... strange. She didn't know how one was supposed to act around a former lover - considering a relationship that was how it was and ended ... like it did? Including screaming and a slap across the face? She didn't know what she had expected. Uncomfortable silence maybe. Unspoken accusations. Or open arguments as with Harm. But definitely not Clayton Webb playing host in cool composure and polite manner. On the other hand ... why not? Webb had never been predictable. He had accepted her decision to end their relationship, had not once tried to change her mind afterwards, had Harm forbidden to tell her about him... And maybe he was right. Maybe it was better for both of them to forget that this year had ever existed.

"Good morning ... Mac," Chegwidden greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. He held the door open for her.

"Good morning, sir ... I mean AJ." Never she had got comfortable with using his first name. But neither had any of the others who had known him as their CO - a constant joke at Bud and Harriet's yearly Christmas parties.

As they stepped outside the morning air hit them like a sticky towel. Temperatures barely went down in the night these days nevertheless this early hour was the only time when physical exercise was at least bearable. Chegwidden nodded to the left, starting slowly and Mac followed his lead. Immediately sweat was soaking their light clothes. Their feet pounded on the ground. Almost naturally they found a mutual rhythm and Mac finally relaxed somewhat. It had been a long time since they had been running together - training for the Jag-a-thon - but it still felt good. Familiar. In a way like coming home.

The first two miles passed in silence. Every now and then she cast a quick glance at her former CO, breathing easily and obviously in extraordinary good shape for a man of his age. Nevertheless, she couldn't help noticing the pronounced lines in his face, the spots on his skin or the veins sticking out on his still muscular arms. And she felt somewhat disturbed by the sudden realization that he wouldn't live forever. She took a quick breath.

"Sir - AJ? May I ask you a question? Do you think I should have taken those letters more seriously?"

Chegwidden kept his eyes on the road ahead. "As I said yesterday: That's always a difficult decision, Mac. Normally we - you try to keep things like that under the hat. If you make a great fuss about it some idiots only use it as a courage test. Any case has to be and is cleared up of course. So far anyone responsible has found out that it was a really bad idea. But ... well, you keep these things quiet. Unfortunately you're always in danger of missing a serious threat. It's difficult."

Mac thought about that for some time while they moved on. "Being a full-time judge has quite some aspects I never considered."

"That's what makes life interesting: You never know what to expect."

"Oh, yes, you never know what to expect." Mac heard the bitterness in her own voice. "I could easily live without that. I guess Clay would have too."

AJ glanced at her. "Probably." Suddenly he slowed down to a normal walk. "I guess we have some things to talk about, Mac."

Mac fell into step beside him. "I - I would appreciate it, sir - AJ. I ... didn't want to ask last night at the table. And just by the way, thank you for doing most of the conversation. Uhm, I mean not that it wasn't interesting to hear about your baseball teams..."

"I got the point, Mac. You're welcome." And with a sigh: "Nobody has ever claimed that Webb is easy to handle."

They walked some minutes in silence.

"I've got to admit I'm a bit ... surprised," Mac finally started again. "When did you and Clay become so..."

"Cozy?"

"I - uh - uhm..." Mac couldn't help laughing nervously at Chegwidden's sarcastic suggestion.

"It's all Tim's fault."

"Sir?"

"Tim Fawkes. An old friend of mine. And of Webb."

"Sir?" Mac repeated confused. "You and Clay ... have got the same friend?"

"Oh, I didn't know it either until we had to rescue him out of the hands of some Italian terrorists about eight years ago." AJ noticed the look she was giving him. "I guess I never mentioned that, did I?"

"No... And Clay didn't either."

"Yeah, if Webb knows one thing then how to keep his mouth shut... As long as he wants to." Chegwidden sighed and stopped, putting his hands on his hips. For a second he seemed to mull something over then shrugged. "It was the year after my retirement. Ben, a boy in one of the baseball teams I started coaching, had managed to fall off his bike and break his leg. November, leaves on the ground, juvenile miscalculation ... the usual story. I visited him in the hospital to see how he was doing. I was just about to go back to my car when I saw Tim entering the cafeteria ... so I followed him. He then told me that Webb had had an accident the evening before."

Mac watched his eyes wander past her, lost in thought and she made no move to interrupt him. Finally he shook his head.

"It looked really bad. Webb couldn't have picked a worse place to run off the road. It had taken them hours to cut him out of the car and he was in surgery most of the remaining night and into the morning. He was still unconscious that afternoon and he didn't come to for two more days. But he clung to his life. Dear Lord, yes, he fought for it."

"Oh, God." Mac barely whispered. She swallowed, trying to gather her thoughts. "Harm... Harm said it happened because ... Clay was overtired and fell asleep behind the steering wheel." She glanced at her former CO. "He said that's all Clayton told him."

"That's all there is."

"Sir, with all due respect, it's kind of hard to believe. I mean considering Clay's job? He - he made a lot of enemies; there had been a price on his head..."

"You're not the only one to think like that. Believe me, the Agency left no stone unturned. They took the wreck of his car down screw by screw. But there was simply no evidence for _ANY_ kind of manipulation or that any other car was near him when it happened... No drugs, no alcohol, nothing. And Webb only remembers getting in the car but he can't even recall leaving the parking lot because his head injuries caused partial amnesia." Chegwidden heaved another sigh. "No, Mac. He was tired, he wasn't thinking straight, his reactions were handicapped. He knew the road but it was dark and maybe he drove too fast. He lost control. Things like that happen. We can just be grateful he didn't take anybody with him off the road."

Mac closed her eyes and nodded slowly. As if she didn't know how easily it happened. As if she didn't know how lucky she had been.

"It wasn't like I could have walked away after I had learned about it and so I - well - stayed," AJ continued slowly after a while. "It was terrible at first. Webb went from one depression to the other. Either tried too hard or not at all. Exploded at nothing or didn't speak a word for days. The doctors called it 'normal reactions' to such a traumatic experience and who am I to object... But I can't count how often I simply wanted to strangle him - the only thing he never lost was his sharp tongue." A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I can really imagine that," Mac shook her head. Then she clenched her fists in sudden anger. "Why didn't you tell me, AJ? Why did you never tell me? We have seen each other at least once a year since it happened why did you never tell me about it? Why not even a hint?"

"And then?" AJ asked tiredly. "What would you have done? Run to his side? Mac, you were married..."

"Nevertheless, it should have been my decision!"

"Wasn't it his?"

For a heartbeat Mac just stared at Chegwidden as if she saw him the first time in her life. Then she spun around, unable to face him any longer, unable to hold his firm gaze as the full meaning of his last words sank in. Webb hadn't wanted her to know. Not Chegwidden. Webb. Clayton. Again.

Silently watching the woman who had been under his command for eight years AJ could see the confusion radiating from her. Could see her pain so evident in her nervous movements, in the way she ran shaking fingers through her hair and not for the first time he cursed Webb's request. His voice was almost soft.

"Mac, it was already hard enough: Not only he would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair but it was a fact that he had done this to himself. It had been his own damn fault."

Mac's shoulders tensed even more and Chegwidden barely suppressed another sigh. Why had things to be so complicated around here? For long minutes none of them spoke. Finally AJ brushed sweat off his face and started again.

"Porter kept him going. And boy, the woman really knew - knows how to push Clay's buttons. I've seen a lot in my life and always thought I and Marcella have been bad but when these two went at each other ... the rest dove for cover."

"Porter and Clay?" Somewhat stunned Mac turned back around. "I would never have thought they could exchange a harsh word. I always pictured them being so ... almost awfully intimate."

Chegwidden snorted. "Yeah, they really fooled anybody with their cozy 'Yes, mother, no mother' or 'If you want that, dear'. Harrison said it was seldom that they actually had arguments before the accident ... but when they did they fought tooth and nail." He chuckled then grew serious again. "As I've said Porter kept him going. And after he had finally accepted what had happened - as far as anyone can ever accept something like that - Clay improved steadily. He was almost bearable again. Well, not that he had ever been in the past."

Mac smiled faintly at the thin joke although she felt more like crying.

"And then Porter had a stroke last year ... and shortly after a second one. It was the first time..." Chegwidden paused. Mac looked up but waited in silence until he had worked out his words. The former admiral rubbed a hand across his mouth. "It was the first time we actually thought we might lose him. Despite his behavior he had never really wanted to give up. In his heart he's as much a survivor as a certain aviator we both know. But to lose Porter... After the second stroke she wasn't able to speak, no one knew if she recognized anybody around her. I guess we were all afraid it might shatter him completely. Instead ... he somehow drew strength from it. He took his life in his own hands again, finally. It still was - and is - a sometimes bumpy ride but ... he's getting along."

"Oh, he would never disappoint his mother by just giving up." Mac laughed shortly and she didn't know herself if it was wryly amused or bitter. "He told me in Paraguay she would never forgive him if he died first."

"Well, I sure got to know Porter as a woman with strict principles," AJ commented mildly. "As hard to herself as to others. And definitely not easy to understand."

Mac met his eyes then looked away, blushing like a scolded schoolgirl. After some time she cleared her throat.

"I just don't understand why ... why..."

Chegwidden read her mind. "Why Porter is not in private care at home?"

Mac nodded and blushed even more. AJ made a face.

"Well, because they had obviously discussed possibilities a long time ago in their disturbingly pragmatic manner. Porter was always afraid of becoming a roadblock in her son's life when getting older. Besides ... I don't think he could afford it at the moment. Porter needs constant support and medical attention the costs of private care would be astronomical. Harrison is not getting younger, Clay is not able to do it himself and considering how much they spent for his treatments, the remodeling of the house, therapies..."

He paused a second and gave Mac a look.

"Don't get me wrong, I would still be glad to have his funds and he lives on a higher standard than many other people, including horses and all that ... although I guess he would rather sell the house than his horses. But nevertheless, it was a lot of money and he's not earning as much as he used to. He's sensible enough to know that he has to be careful and plan ahead for the future. Sometimes I wish he would at least consider arguing with the insurance companies but his refusal to do so is probably some weird kind of self-punishment."

In mutual understanding they started walking again. Mac slowly shook her head as she tried to get some order into her tumbling thoughts. Three years. Only three short years but it seemed to have been a lifetime considering how much had happened. How much had changed.

"You should have told me," she said finally. "_HE_ should have told me. I should have... We - we had been friends, we had been ... more. There must have been something I could have done."

"Have you ever tried to contact him after you moved out? After you got divorced?"

Mac drew in a shuddering breath. She hadn't. She hadn't dared. What would that have made her? A cold-calculating witch? A wimp? How should she have looked in his eyes ... after what had happened between them? After what had been?

"You got me there."

"It wasn't an accusation, Mac," AJ corrected softly. "It's an explanation."

Mac grimaced. "We are very much alike sometimes, aren't we? From time to time I wished Harm and I would have been like that."

Chegwidden looked skywards where the sun had already started burning. "Mac... I know it's none of my business but I must admit I always wondered ... what went wrong between you and Rabb."

Mac's smile was bittersweet. She avoided her former CO's eyes.

"If I only knew. Maybe... The one thing Harm and I were and have always been best at was fighting. With ourselves, against each other or together against the world. But one morning I woke up and ... was tired of fighting."

She wasn't sure if she really heard the man at her side mutter: "Rabb has always been a fool when it came to you."

Mac ran her hands through her hair and held her face in the sun, drinking in the heat and letting it burn away the old, familiar pain. Again a bittersweet smile touched her lips. No, it had not only been Harm's fault. She had been right there at his side the entire way, through fights and accusations, wrong expectations and bitter disappointment. And it had been her decision to end it for the sake of both of them. Her responsibility. As it had been with Clay.

"Mac ... if I can do anything..." Chegwidden hesitated.

This time Mac's smile was honest. "You have already done so much for me ... AJ. More than I deserve. And I want to thank you that you told me all these things about Clay. I ... don't want to hurt him with a careless remark. I ... I don't want to hurt him. I..." She shrugged. "So often have you been there for me when I needed advice or ... or a friend. Thank you for ... being a friend."

And just because she knew him so well she caught him smiling quickly in his typical manner.

"You know ... we were worried about you," she continued tentatively. "Just before ... your retirement. You were behaving a bit ... odd."

"Well, there were ... many problems." Chegwidden looked down. His face hardened.

Mac waited some seconds then probed carefully: "Meredith?"

"Among other things."

They walked in silence.

"Sheffield."

"Sheffield?"

Chegwidden grimaced. "I considered Nelson to be a difficult SecNav but Sheffield was ... oil on steel. Nelson I could handle. Sheffield was too much politician. Fighting in another league. I was too old to put up with that. I was ... tired. And yes, there was Meredith." Taking a deep breath he stopped again, causing Mac to do the same. "And you and Rabb."

"We, sir?"

"One hour, Mac. I was checking something out and... One more hour and I would have let Rabb go down to Paraguay with or without the information. He would even have been on the same flight. But he couldn't wait. He didn't trust me. He..."

Mac didn't know what to say.

Chegwidden pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, shook his head. "I was so darn angry at him. I was so..."

"Nevertheless, you took him back," Mac said softly after a short silence. "Although he really didn't make it easy for you."

"Yes." AJ huffed at the memory. "God, I was one inch from letting him sit there in his darn self-righteousness and do crop-dusting for the rest of his life." He glanced at Mac. "I guess I don't like being wrong. I guess I don't take it well."

"AJ..."

Chegwidden looked up at the sky and then down at his watch. "We better get going. Or Clayton will send the cavalry after us."

For a moment Mac stared somewhat incredulously at his back as he turned abruptly and started down the road. Then she snorted a laugh and followed him.

Men.


	6. Chess

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Author's note: I think I better repeat just for good measure ... this is _NOT_ HarmMac. Definitely. Plus here's a little timetable to clear up any confusion I've created so far.

2004-05 and later the same year: AJ retires, the episodes Hail and Farewell 1+2 (of the real show)  
2005-05: Mac takes a position at the Pentagon; H+M start dating seriously  
2005-06: Harm proposes to Mac  
2005-09: Harm and Mac's wedding  
2005-11: Webb's accident  
2006-03: Mac moves out  
2006-12: Porter Webb has two strokes  
2007-04: The divorce is official, Mac returns to JAG HQ as a judge (somewhere on the way she was promoted to full rank colonel)  
2007-08: Present of Little Things and Second Chances

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Saturday

_- Webb residence, early evening _

Unnerved Mac used her writing pad as a fan and glared down at her work. She was stuck and that for more than an hour already. It was really frustrating. To distract herself she lifted her glass then rolled her eyes as she found it empty. Damn it, had everything to go wrong at the moment?

Pushing her chair back she grabbed the empty bottle from the desk and headed for the stairs. Harrison had shown her where to get water or iced tea in the kitchen and that was really necessary - even in the house it was hot. In the hallway she nearly stumbled over Dammit, lying as flat as possible on the stone tiles. The dog - obviously determined to save its energy - barely opened one eye.

Mac grinned. "That's the right thing to do now that your boss has abandoned you for a week to go with his junior baseball team to Minnesota."

Chegwidden had offered to stay until the threat was cleared up but she had insisted that it was all right. She hadn't wanted to think of these big, disappointed children's eyes if their coach changed his plans at the last minute. Besides, if they had found a substitute to accompany the boys would have been another question. Now she continued her way towards the kitchen, shaking her head.

"A baseball training camp. Don't they notice the heat?"

Halfway down the corridor she paused again as she heard a voice. Webb's voice. For a second she hesitated, torn between conflicting emotions but finally curiosity got the better of her. She followed the sound and peered into the living room. While listening a frown appeared on her face. Clayton Webb was sitting in his living room and reading aloud ... something that seemed to be a children's book? Involuntarily she took a step closer.

Webb paused at the end of a sentence, scribbled a note on the edge of the page and reached for a glass of water on the low table at his side. Suddenly he looked up and around.

"Mac. I didn't hear you come in." He closed the book.

"Oh, I - I didn't want to interrupt you. I ... uhm ... wanted to get another bottle of water." Unnecessarily she waved the empty bottle through the air. Against her will her eyes wandered towards the book in Clayton's hand and he noticed.

"Oh, that..." He cleared his throat somewhat embarrassed. "Peter's newest project for me."

"Peter?"

"Old friend of mother's. And now my new employer so to speak." At Mac's questioning look he felt compelled to explain a bit further. "He's publisher. I needed something to do after the accident and mother persuaded him to more or less give me a job as translator." He lifted the book. "And now this: Audiobooks."

Mac's eyebrows shot upwards. "Wait a minute, you are a reader for audiobooks? Those you can buy on CD? In shops?"

"That way it sounds like a crime."

"Oh no, I didn't mean to..." Mac blushed. "It has just taken me off guard. You are really doing this?"

"It's actually fun. A lot of work though. You've got to find out how to read them best, practice by yourself and then do _NOT_ ruin the takes at the studio by laughing or getting a cold at the wrong time."

Meanwhile Mac had stepped up to him and now took the book he was holding out to her. Her eyes moved over the title.

"_'This time it's magic'_?"

"Peter said the first volume to this didn't sell that badly." Webb sounded defensive.

"So your name is really on the cover of a CD? Wow."

"A pseudonym. It would not be very wise to use my real name considering my last job."

Mac grimaced. "True." She flipped through the pages. "What's the title of the first volume?"

"_'No magic at all'_. The book is standing over there if you are interested in fantasy novels for teenagers."

"Huh!" Mac made another face then smiled. "But I may have a try if I don't get forward soon with my work - simply out of despair."

"I thought judges only sit around in courtrooms and have others to do the legwork."

"Prejudices. Ugly prejudices."

Webb chuckled. And a sudden stab of - of what? - shot through the pit of Mac's stomach. She hadn't heard this sound since ... since... She had forgotten how his face changed when he did this. Any tension and self-control seemed to vanish and he looked ... relaxed. Without holding anything back. It threw her off balance.

"You - you said you have also translated books? Children's books like this? Which languages?" She knew she was rambling but it was all she could do to keep her confusion at bay.

"Oh, illustrated guides for little galleries or small exhibitions, things like that. Nothing overly impressive. And whatever language was needed. German, Dutch, French, Spanish ... one was Japanese. About famous temples."

"You never told me you speak Japanese too."

"Someone from Japan would probably argue with you if I _SPEAK_ Japanese ... but reading and listening is OK."

"Wow," muttered Mac again. She started wandering around the room and immediately noticed the unusual wide distance between pieces of furniture - probably to give Webb more space to maneuver his wheelchair. That thought sent another stab through the pit of her stomach. Quickly she picked up a playing piece from a chessboard sitting on a small table by the window.

"Nice set," she mumbled uncomfortably.

Well, it was: Board and pieces were made of stone, probably marble, and beautifully worked. She had used to play with her Uncle Matt and not bad as she prided herself. Harm had preferred the Game of Go and had always beaten her at it.

"A gift from AJ. Souvenir of Carrara, Italy." Webb tapped his fingers on his leg. "Do you play? I think somehow I never asked you that."

"Oh yes, I do. Well, I used to." She turned and the next words were out before she could stop them. "Want to do a round?"

Webb looked surprised. "Yes, why not?"

Mac gulped nervously as he pushed the wheels and moved over to her. Her legs were almost shaking and she sat down quickly. Webb maneuvered the wheelchair in position. They gambled for the colors and he got white. But instead of making his first move he hesitated.

"Maybe I should tell you that I played a lot when I was young and started playing a lot again recently. Mostly against the computer. I can play without a queen if you want to."

"Oh, really?" Mac snorted offended. "I don't think it's necessary I can hold my own. And don't even think about going easy on me! Understood?"

Webb just narrowed his eyes. He blew her off the board in seven moves.

"Ups." Mac pursed her lips and considered her field of disaster. She met his challenging look completed by a little smirk. And cocked an eyebrow. "Well, let's come back to that offer of yours..."

Webb blinked then laughed. As he turned the chessboard he muttered: "I would have lost my money."

"Lost your money?" Mac found herself smiling widely without knowing why.

"Uhm - nothing." He put his queen aside.

"Come on, Clayton, why would you have lost your money?"

"Because ... three years ago it would have been a safe bet that you would never take that advantage no matter how often I beat you."

Their eyes met.

"Not an advantage of that kind. A physical advantage, yes. But not this kind," Mac acknowledged finally. She frowned down at the board and quickly moved the pawn in front of her king.

This time she lasted at least sixteen moves. Without a word she turned the chessboard and they started anew after they had arranged the pieces. Slowly she was getting the hang of it back. Some time they played in concentrated silence. Then Webb had closed in her king with his castles and a pawn. After two check positions in a row she was checkmate again.

"You're learning quickly."

"Thanks. I guess that was a compliment."

Mac watched with her chin in her hands as Webb put up the pieces again. One stone was accidentally brushed off the table by his arm but before she could move he had maneuvered backwards, bent down and angled it from the floor.

"You're really handling this OK, don't you?"

For a moment Webb considered the white bishop in his hand before putting it back on the table and moving forward in his old position. He concentrated on setting the pieces.

"There's not much you can do otherwise. Life goes on if you want it or not ... eventually you cope. And it's getting easier. Somewhat. When you stop forgetting that some things are simply no longer possible."

"I see." Mac placed a fingertip on top of her king and moved it in tiny circles. "I ... had a longer talk with AJ this morning."

"Thought so."

"Do you mind?"

Webb shrugged. "Hey, you and AJ are free to talk about everything you want to."

A short silence.

"I didn't know that you and AJ have got a mutual friend," continued Mac finally.

"You mean Tim Fawkes? Yes, he ... was my mentor when I started working for the CIA and he and AJ met in Laos."

Mac was again circling the smooth stone under her hand. "AJ mentioned Italy."

"Did he." Webb's hand hovered for a moment over the chessboard as his gaze wandered out of the window. A shadow seemed to fall over his features.

"Clay?"

But Webb was far away, caught in his own memory. The memory of a gun, warm in his hands, of flowers, white and red and pink, framing Theresa's beautiful face, of the perfect little hole in her forehead... He shook his head.

"Since - since when is your hair short again?"

A second or two she just stared at him how he unnecessarily straightened the pieces on the chessboard, avoiding her eyes. Then she slowly lifted a hand and tugged at one of the short strands. Silently accepting his change of subject.

"April. This year. I was fed up with the work that comes with long hair." And it had been the day the divorce had become official. But she didn't say that.

"I- The cut suits you." Webb's eyes were lowered on the table, hiding whatever emotion might have been visible in them.

"Thanks." Mac wasn't sure why she was blushing. Involuntarily her eyes drifted to his nearly grey temples and the grey shade in the rest of his still full hair. Before she could start to feel really uncomfortable Webb gestured at the chessboard.

"Do you want another game before dinner?"

"Well, I ... I better go and have a shower. The weather is killing me."

"Oh, yes, of course, it's - hot."

Somewhat reluctantly Mac pushed her chair back and got up. She turned towards the door.

"Mac?"

"Yes?"

"Would you - like to go with me to the horses tomorrow? I'll go early in the morning because of the heat." Webb turned a knight in his hands. "But you probably have a lot of work to do..."

"No! Uhm, I mean: No, I - I would love - _LIKE_ to go to the horses. Tomorrow."

"Fine."

"OK, fine."

A moment they looked at each other. Then Mac offered a short smile and left the room. .


	7. Horses

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Sunday

_- Stables somewhere in Virginia, in the morning _

"Huh!" Mac blinked several times the look on her face almost comical in shock. Webb laughed at her expression.

"Mac, close your mouth or you'll catch a fly. Stupid beasts are terrible anyway this summer no matter how early you get up."

Mac accepted his advice. Besides, the flies were really annoying. "You're doing this every time?"

"Of course. At first I was a bit worried he might step into a wheel and cut himself but he's doing just fine," Webb replied seriously and turned back to his task.

"Sure, he's doing just fine," Mac echoed with a trace of disbelief.

Heck, it really took some getting used to it to see a horse of impressive five feet six towering like a living mountain over a man in a wheelchair. Especially if the man had placed one hoof on his own thigh and was busy cleaning it out. The brown gelding - introduced to her as Laughing Jack or in short Jack - obviously didn't find it overly interesting ... and neither did anybody around her.

"Now seriously-" Webb eased the hoof off his leg and wheeled towards the next. "I wouldn't do that with any horse. Pearl over there would jump through the roof if I tried. If we were under a roof that is," he finished with a mocking glance skywards.

Mac looked at the elegant mare dancing nervously under the brush of a young girl and swallowed. Her "little sister" Chloe adored horses but her own feelings towards them were more ... divided. Looking at them from a distance was nice but sitting on them was a completely different thing. Not that she would ever admit that. And she _DID_ get on one if necessary, had even crossed a desert in the company of a Bedouin tribe. She had never been to this stable with Webb when they had dated three years ago. Well, the time they had spent together had been rather limited due to Clayton's work. And her own too to be honest.

"You want to try?"

Webb's question brought her back to reality. Quickly she shook her head.

"Ah - no, thank you. I'll swing the broom instead."

She smiled as she heard his amused chuckle. She was surprised but it felt comfortable to be here ... together. Easy, relaxed ... natural. The awkward tension of the last evening seemed to be so far away in bright morning sunlight. And anything else had probably been just her imagination anyway. This was how it had to be. A host showing his guest around. Maybe ... a little bit like being friends.

"Jack, Jack, come down, good boy, good old boy..." Webb's voice casually soothed the horse as he expertly put on the bridle.

Once more Mac's brows rose in awe as the gelding calmly lowered his big head and held still while Webb adjusted the leather. Next was the harness and to her untrained eyes there seemed to be a terrible amount of straps and buckles. But soon Charlie - a young woman around twenty who had already cleaned the high parts of the horse - and Webb had everything fixed. Then he directed the gelding with a quiet command and a gentle swing at the reins backwards to the waiting carriage ... if carriage was the right word. The vehicle reminded of a sulky for trotting races but with a platform between the rubber wheels instead of a seat.

"Uhm, Clay... What _IS_ this?"

"Homemade freedom."

"What?"

Webb chuckled again. "Wait, I'll explain in a second."

_

* * *

_

Somewhere in Virginia, a bit later

"I'm impressed!" shouted Mac over the steady rhythm of the hooves, now standing behind Webb's wheelchair on the platform of the moving two-wheel cart.

Looking down she considered once more the complicated system of straps and chains that secured the wheelchair to the platform although it left more than enough room for her feet. The narrow ramp that had allowed Webb to get on was now smoothly stashed away under the bottom. She tried to ignore that Jack's rear - moving up and down as he walked - seemed to be awfully close.

"And you really got this idea from a horse show you visited years ago in Europe?"

"Yes, I managed to track down the man I saw and we exchanged e-mails." Webb twisted his head around and glanced over his shoulder. "He was so kind to send some drawings and photographs. Charlie and her friends put it together and then we experimented a bit until we found the best combination for me."

The girl in question was following them in some distance with the hot mare. Obviously as a back-up for unexpected difficulties. The sulky rattled a bit on the uneven lane and Mac tightened her grip on the back of the wheelchair although she was standing surprisingly sure. At least as long as she kept her feet far enough apart, pressed them firmly onto the metal of the platform and did not forget to ride out the bumps with bent knees just as Charlie had explained to her. It was almost like skiing, really.

"I'm impressed," she repeated a second time.

Seeing a smoother part of the lane ahead she quickly lifted one hand and wiped off some of the sweat that was pouring from under the helmet. Webb had insisted on wearing them and there had been very little to argue with his dry - and rather drastic - remark that _"you can live without legs or even arms but without a functioning brain it's rather difficult"_. Then she looked around again and took in the landscape they were driving through.

"It's really beautiful here."

"I'm glad you like it, it's one of my favorite routes." Webb smiled ahead. "It's sometimes difficult to find good roads for the sulky. More than for a rider anyway."

"Do you drive with all your horses?"

"At the moment only Jack but we're planning on training one of the others too."

It took Mac a moment to realize that he was referring to everybody at the stables with 'we'. She knew he didn't own the property but was on very good terms with the actual owners; in fact Charlie was their daughter. And there were more young people who took care of his horses probably for riding in return. She glanced down at him.

"And the rest?"

"Youngster is too old for work but I want him to have a good old age. At his time he was one of the best show horses I ever had. My dear little devil Pearl is definitely not made for a carriage, Charlie is taking her to competitions. Serena has been my mother's horse. She's the one we'll maybe drive in. Mother suggested it before..."

Webb abruptly shut his mouth and Mac didn't press. For a while Jack's hooves on the ground and the quiet tinkling of harness and wheels were the only sound. Mac inhaled deeply the already hot air. The smell of freshly cut grass tickled in her nose.

"Did you ever try to ride again after ... your accident?"

A moment she thought Webb wouldn't answer her soft question. But finally he sighed.

"No."

"Why? I know there are paraplegics who do."

"Because..." Webb paused a second then lifted his shoulders. "It ... it would not have been the same."

Mac nodded in silent understanding. She shifted the grip of one hand a little so that she was able to touch his shoulder in a small reassuring gesture. And somehow she knew he smiled.

Some more minutes passed. A comfortable silence had settled between them as they approached the bottom of a gentle hill. Jack had trotted regularly up to now but suddenly he started throwing his head up and down and jerking at the reins. Webb turned a bit and lifted his brows.

"Are you up for a little adventure?"

"Uhm - sure."

"Then hold on tight. Call immediately if you even think you might lose your balance, promise?"

"OK." Not sure what to expect Mac searched for a better footing and crouched lower until her head was on level with Webb's.

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

Webb clicked his tongue and shortened the reins some more. Jack immediately quickened his pace and jumped into a canter, straining against the bit. The sulky shook and rattled as the gelding fought to have his head.

"Mac?"

"I'm fine!" An unexpected surge of adrenalin shot through Mac's veins making her heart beat faster. And before she knew she had added: "Let go!"

Webb simply clicked his tongue again and lifted the reins. The gelding accelerated hard, going faster with any second and Mac's breath caught in her throat. Blood sung in her ears as hot wind whipped tears to her eyes, blurring the sides of the lane flying by. The horse was now thundering uphill at full speed, all its weight thrown into the harness. Grass and pieces of ground flew around their heads. The pumping hind legs so close or the bumps and jumps of the sulky should have frightened her but the excitement of the wild ride washed any other emotion away. Involuntarily she laughed out loud, simply enjoying the moment.

All too soon Webb reined in the gallop and talked soothingly to the horse. The gelding slowed willingly down and fell into a prancing walk. Although he was shaking his head and snorting loudly to show that he all but approved.

Laughing all over his face Webb turned in the wheelchair. He was panting.

"And?"

"Oh my God, that was great!" exclaimed Mac equally breathless, looking at him. And as she did their noses nearly brushed.

Time stood still. Mac found herself staring into Clayton's sparkling eyes. She could feel his breath on her skin, on her lips and she knew he had to feel hers too. She saw the smile slowly leaving Webb's face as he answered her stare. His gaze flickered. From her eyes down to her lips and back up to her eyes and Mac felt again a hitch in her breath, cutting right down to her very core. Her own gaze traveled over his features, those features she had once known so well, so well, searching his eyes again, his unreadable eyes. She thought he was tilting his head a little, moving forward a little, his breath so hot and she lifted her chin, drawn by his slightly opened lips, by the darkness in his eyes... Abruptly Webb turned his head away.

A pain shot through Mac's body as if a knife had been run into her. And for the life of her she could not have given a reason why. Quickly she rose to an upright position and gritted her teeth against tears suddenly threatening to fall. Taking a deep breath she fought desperately for control, to stop her body from shaking, to stop thinking, to stop herself from feeling this pain she had no right to feel.

Webb fiddled with the reins, his eyes glued to his hands. "We - we better go back. Jack is not used to drawing two people. I don't want to exhaust him."

The gelding looked all but exhausted but Mac nodded silently. A useless gesture because the man in front of her wasn't able to see it. Her voice was hoarse as she finally found it.

"Yes. Yes, that's probably better."

Jack fell into a gentle trot again. After a short uncomfortable silence Webb pointed with the whip to the side and started to explain some meaningless details of their surroundings. Gladly Mac played along and threw in little questions.

Anything - _ANYTHING_ was better than silence ... was better than to think.


	8. Regrets

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

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**

August 2007, Sunday

_- Webb residence, late afternoon _

She had done her best to bury any thought in work. She had stuck her head in files as soon as they had returned and skipped lunch and had even annoyed some people with phone calls. But in the end Sarah Mackenzie had to admit that she had failed. She wasn't able to get this morning out of her mind.

Maybe ... if it had been possible they would have run from each other as fast as they could after they had reached the stables. She would have for sure. Only that they had had to take care of a horse, ride back in the same car and were trapped in the same house... And Clayton had continued to behave the same way he had done since she had waltzed back into his life: Calm, polite, composed ... cold. As if nothing unusual had happened. As if _IT_ had not happened ... whatever _IT_ had been. Because _IT_ was ridiculous. _IT_ was terrifying. _IT_ was absolutely impossible.

But somehow the living room had drawn her like a magnet and now she was disappointed that it was empty.

Mac jumped as she felt a soft push at her leg. Dammit brushed past her; her claws clicking quietly on the floor. For some unknown reason the dog had chosen to follow her around this afternoon and now was even looking over its shoulder as if to say: 'What? You're coming or not?' She could swear she even raised a brow.

"You know what? Sometimes you really remind me of Jingo."

The dog responded to that by flopping down on the floor and heaving a long, long sigh. Involuntarily Mac grinned. But the grin faded as her gaze fell on the chessboard. Still sitting on the same table by the window just as it had yesterday. Slowly she walked over, circling the lying dog on her way. After a moment of hesitation she picked up the black king and turned the smooth stone in her hands.

What was happening here? What on earth was happening here?

Had they really nearly kissed on that hill? Had she really seen this longing in Clayton's eyes? Or had it been her imagination - her own wishes that she had projected onto him?

It wasn't right. How could she feel like that ... now? How could she dare feel like that after ... everything? It should be impossible. It wasn't fair. Not after all these years, not after all this pain. Not fair to her ... and not fair to Clay. She was such a fool. He had no reason to harbor any feeling for her anymore. It had been her decision to end it and he had accepted it. She had hurt him three years ago. She knew she had hurt him. But she had been hurt too. Oh, all these words spoken in anger. And bitter disappointment.

But what she had felt on that hill, in that moment... This stab in the pit of her stomach ... this tightening of her heart... It - it had been real and that was what frightened her the most. Because she had felt like this before. When things had started to go wrong. When there had suddenly been emotions which hadn't been supposed to be ... only to be shattered into pieces by - by a _LIE_! By the lie he had promised her to never happen.

Those emotions hadn't been there at the beginning. At the beginning they had simply decided to 'give it a try'. More seriously from Clayton's side than for her. Then, probably as the stress, the pressure of Paraguay and its aftermath had finally started to catch up with them - God, had they been naïve - the reason for dating had changed a first time. Then the reason had become ... not to be alone. Not to be alone with the memory. The nightmares. To be with someone who didn't ask the wrong questions, who didn't want too much of something neither had been ready to give. Even when they had finally been in bed with each other - and yes, it had taken them a long time to get that far - it had been mostly comfort ... at first. Oh, and not to forget the occasions they had used each other as punching bag especially after their personal demon had returned to haunt them. Sadik Fahd would have been satisfied how deeply his manipulations had affected them.

Slowly Mac closed her fingers around the black king until she held it in a tight fist. She felt the stone cut in her flesh.

Everything had been shifting just before Clay's _DEATH_. Everything. She had made first progress in accepting that she had killed Fahd in cold blood ... he had stopped drinking too much before he could have become a real alcoholic. It - it had been ... nice. Comfortable in a different meaning. Almost safe. And this safety had been brutally destroyed by a killer on his heels and the decision to leave her in the dark. She had never got over this. She hadn't wanted to. Too much damage had been done.

Looking down at her fist Mac opened her hand slowly until the black king was lying on her flat palm. Then she smiled bitterly. It was the joke of her life. Whenever she had something she wasn't able to appreciate it ... and when she hadn't she wanted it.

A sound from the door made her turn and he was there in the doorway, a pile of magazines on his lap and his hands still on the wheels. Looking as surprised and a bit shocked as she felt. Meeting her eyes.

Mac was suddenly very aware of the soft rise and fall of her own chest, the slow beating of her heart. She almost jumped as Webb stretched his arms, pushing the wheelchair forward and into the room then stopped again, a few steps from the entrance. And still he was watching her with this distant gaze she couldn't read.

On the floor between them Dammit was throwing little glances left and right under twitching brows without ever lifting her head.

The silence was complete.

Finally Mac swallowed and looked down at the black king she was still holding then turned a bit to put it gently back on the chessboard. The clicking sound seemed overly loud.

"Fahd was wrong, wasn't he?"

Webb's eyebrows arched up a notch but he said nothing. Mac searched his eyes.

"In Paraguay. He thought as soon as you heard my screams you would cave in and tell him whatever he wanted to know. But he was wrong. You would never have told him. Not more than you told Tanveer when he asked those questions about your last mission."

Webb looked away and turned the wheelchair, dropped the magazines onto a chair. She could see his deep intake of breath.

"I would have died for you. But I would not have betrayed my country to save you."

Mac closed her eyes. And she could feel a somewhat bitter smile play around her lips.

"Was the information worth it?"

"I don't know." Webb only whispered. He ran a thumb along the pile of magazines, still avoiding looking at her. "What is worth to be protected and what not? Would saving - maybe saving - one or two people I know personally be worth risking the lives of a dozen informants or even agents I had never seen? Would it be worth giving away information that might be vital for national security? I had been a Deputy Director. I had profound knowledge of the CIA network not only in South America. I was so close to breaking into the Hawk's circle as nobody had been before. Where am I supposed to draw the line? How can I be allowed to draw the line?"

Mac shook her head and looked at the ceiling. She crossed her arms in front of her chest as if that would console the hollow emptiness she felt inside.

"You know what's funny, Clay? I guess I always knew your answer. And I guess I wasn't all that angry because you lied to me while you had promised you would never do that. Or because you didn't trust me and played with my feelings. I guess I ... was angry because I ... already knew that you would have sacrificed me. That part of your taking Fahd's torture in Paraguay had been because you didn't want to face that decision. Because you would have let me die."

Her gaze returned to the man in the wheelchair who was still turned away from her, still avoiding her eyes.

"That hurt the most, Clay. That hurt so much that I actually wished you were really dead."

Webb's hand on the magazines curled up into a fist.

Mac exhaled slowly. "How funny that I was hurt because I was with one of the few men who really live up to their principles no matter what."

"I don't know if those principles were worth living up to," Webb admitted quietly after a short silence. His eyes finally searched hers. "I ... was working on the decision to leave the agency when the accident happened."

Mac breathed a laugh that was more a sob at the bitter irony of her life, of life itself. And now it was she who turned away to look out of the window.

"I hated your job. The Agency. What you expect of people. I hated waiting for you. I hated not knowing if you were late because you had some shopping to do or a meeting went longer or if you were lying in some dirty little road in a country I had never heard of with your throat cut. I hated the thought of how many lunatic enemies you might have made over the years. How many of them might have been lurking in the shadows to get you."

Webb snorted. "You know damn well that whatever went wrong between the two of us had nothing to do with my job."

His eyes were somewhat angry as he met her startled glance.

"Would it have been different if I had been ... I don't know ... a submariner? A SEAL? Gone for six months in a row or putting 'the team' above anything else including family? No. Because you were addicted to control. Control over your own life and anything and anyone in it and whenever something didn't go as you had it in your head you threw a tantrum or turned away in disappointment. But life doesn't work that way, Mac. It can't."

Three years ago Mac would have gotten angry. Would have started shouting, maybe even slapped him again. And she would have had quite some points to make. But now, almost two sometimes frustrating years of paper work at the Pentagon, a ruined marriage and way too much time to think later she only returned to looking out of the window and admitted quietly:

"Maybe you're right."

She heard Webb's soft sigh.

"I know that lying to you wasn't fair, Mac. But it made things so much easier. It was so much easier than dealing with your lack of understanding when I couldn't answer your questions. Keeping you at arm's length was so much easier than dealing with the fact that you seemed only ready to commit to me when I had one foot out of the door."

Seconds ticked by, minutes. They didn't look at each other. Mac shook her head at the screwed irony how her own words from a different time, to a different man had come back to her.

"You said you needed me ... in Paraguay," she whispered finally towards the window then turned around to face him. "But for all I saw you didn't. You pushed me away, you shut me out, you lied to me ... maybe more than I knew up to now. You didn't need me."

Webb stared into his lap.

"Does it really matter any more?"

Mac closed her eyes. "No, I guess it doesn't."

She pushed off the table with the chessboard and crossed the room, fighting against the pain in her chest, the emptiness in her soul. Webb didn't move as she passed him, never lifted his bent head. But his barely audible voice stopped her in the doorway.

"Maybe I said it because I needed someone to remind me I'm still human."

Mac braced herself against the door frame, pressed her forehead against the back of the hand she had placed on the smooth wood. And with sickening clarity she remembered the sound of the shot as he put a bullet into the head of their driver in Paraguay, without warning, without the slightest hesitation. Remembered the cool remark he had made earlier that it was all part of the job, heard her own answer that she knew him better. Remembered the look on Fahd's face the very moment before she pulled the trigger. And what she had felt. She shut her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sarah."

"For what?" How could her voice be so calm? So without any expression?

"Because it wasn't fair to ask that from you. You had enough problems of your own. And I'm sorry that I wasn't able to solve those problems for you."

Mac inhaled deeply and as she opened her eyes she felt a single tear slipping down her cheek.

"I guess that was a little bit much to ask for too."

A long time Webb listened to her steps disappearing down the corridor and to the silence that followed. Then he lifted his gaze and looked at the chessboard on the small table by the window.

Where black king and white queen were sitting side by side.

Slowly he wheeled over to it. An endless moment he considered the marble stones with an expression that was as cold and closed as their smooth surface. And suddenly something changed in his face and he lashed out, whipped his arms violently across the chessboard, sending pieces all over the table and to the floor.

Dammit bolted to her feet at the sound of the tumbling stones then stood there, glancing uneasily at the man in the wheelchair. Laying her ears back she opened her mouth and panted a bit, turned her head towards the door for a moment. As the silence continued she finally stretched out on the floor again and put her head between her paws. Her eyes never leaving the man in front of the windows who had buried his face in his hands.


	9. Developments

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Monday

_- JAG headquarters, in the morning _

Harm wiped sweat off his forehead and sorted quickly through his notes, forcing himself to concentrate on his case. But his mind kept wandering to different things ... or more accurately they kept wandering to Mac.

He only hoped her mood would be better this morning. Last Friday she had been ready to kick him for not telling her and that should have been bad enough especially because he knew he would have deserved it. But somehow the confused pain under her anger had been worse. As had been the look on Webb's face.

The phone rang and he snatched it up immediately.

"Rabb!"

"You were right it was the Agency," Webb started right away without preamble. "And your Mister Johnson has quite a file no wonder they sealed it."

Harm breathed out. Thank God, finally a lead. "Shoot."

There were some clicking sounds probably as Webb scrolled down a computer screen.

"Martin Johnson. Thirty-two. Joint the Marines right out of high school then transferred to the Central Intelligence Agency four years later. And before you ask: No, I never worked with him. His record here is not the best - his intelligence and skills should have catapulted him upwards but a hot temper usually spoilt his success. 2003 he finally provoked a rather ugly incident with our French counterpart ... I _DID_ hear about that but was never directly involved ... caused a lot of accusations on both sides and happened at a politically really inconvenient moment. He got fired." More clicking. "I must say this man has had some really interesting training."

"Interesting as in interesting or as in 'watch out'?"

"Unfortunately the latter," Webb stated grimly. "But so far I wasn't able to find any connection with the case you have mentioned."

"Damn," muttered Harm. "Where is Mac?"

There was a barely noticeable pause.

"Right now ... she should be on her way to JAG headquarters. Harrison is driving her."

"Good ... that's at least something." Harm glanced at his wristwatch and groaned. "Oh for heaven's sake... Webb, I'm expecting an important witness for my case any minute. Can you bring a copy of this file over? My appointment shouldn't take long and then we'll have a closer look at everything."

"Uhm ... wait a second."

Harm heard muffled voices, a sharp exclamation: "The file?", more murmuring, Webb pleading "Oh, come on, how long do you know me?", a not understandable answer followed by a not better understandable reply and finally a grumbling "You're really lucky I'm still in holiday mood". Then Webb was back in the line.

"All right, I can do that. I don't have a car here at the moment but as soon as Mac is safely in her office Harrison will-"

"Wait, I've got a better idea," interrupted Harm. "I'll send Ellis to pick you up. Saves a little time. And the boy needs something to do anyway."

"Ellis?"

"My assistant. Lieutenant Junior Grade."

"Fine by me."

"Good. Consider him on his way." Harm hung up and stepped to the door of his office. "Ellis!"

"Sir?" The young man hurried over. "Mister Tyler hasn't arrived yet..."

"Forget Tyler," Harm cut him short, "Get a car and pick up a friend of mine at Langley."

"Langley?"

"CIA. Clayton Webb, you can't miss him he's in a wheelchair."

"CIA?" Ellis gaze flickered. "Sir, is that ... is that the man you mentioned Thursday?"

"Exactly." Harm grinned. "And he really did find something. Johnson has a background now."

"Really?" Ellis repeated weakly. Then he suddenly snapped to attention. "Aye, aye, sir."

Harm frowned for a second, watching the retreating back of the young man then dismissed it with a shrug. Yes, the boy tended to behave strangely from time to time but it wasn't worse than Bud and his alien theories.

As he returned to his desk Harm suddenly realized that he had just referred to Clayton Webb as a friend.

_

* * *

_

Langley, Virginia, a bit later

"Mister Webb? I'm Lieutenant Ellis, Commander Rabb's assistant. My car is over there."

At the sound of the voice Webb looked up and narrowed his eyes. The man in a uniform of a lieutenant junior grade of the Navy had to be around thirty and wore a pair of those ridiculously large sunglasses that were so fashionable now. Nevertheless, he looked vaguely familiar. Well, he had probably seen him at JAG some years ago as a seaman or ensign. Not quite a quick career though. Putting the thought aside Webb closed the file he had been studying and stashed it away.

"Fine. Then let's go."

Not a word was spoken until they reached a dark car. Ellis was always a step ahead of the wheelchair and avoided looking back. It was hard to tell if he was shy or rude or simply embarrassed at the presence of a paraplegic. But Webb didn't bother thinking about it much. He had had his own frustrating experiences with _NORMAL_ people since his accident - as many disabled people. He still didn't like it but he had learned to ignore it most of the time. He had learned to ignore a lot of things. And he knew himself well enough to admit that he was probably the wrong person to point his finger at someone else in this matter.

Still without a word Ellis opened the front door of the passenger's side. A door without the emblem of the Navy as Webb noted at the back of his mind. But he forgot about it as the younger man finally considered him with somewhat disturbing intensity.

"Do you need assistance?"

"No." Without hesitation Webb manhandled himself and the file into the car and then pulled and shoved at the wheelchair until it was folded in the middle. "Put it in the trunk."

Ellis simply slammed the door shut. Webb snorted. The lieutenant should be glad he was not using the bulky electric wheelchair or he would have had to drive with an open trunk. Then he grimaced. Not that he had had much of a choice. It was difficult enough to pass Langley's security with the mechanical considering that the metal set off any detector but the fuss they had made about the electronics and wires in the other one had quickly cured him of using it there again. Then he dismissed these thoughts just as he had done before and strapped in. He tried to push his body in a better position knowing all too well that he might not feel uncomfortable pressure but still got sore as a result.

"I've got to get something for Commander Rabb on our way," Ellis announced after he had closed his door and turned the ignition. "I hope you don't mind the detour."

"Whatever."

Webb's fingers drummed slowly onto the folder on his lap as they pulled out into the traffic. He really didn't understand how Rabb could call such a stone faced man a 'boy'. But Harm had always been rather special in his opinions. As had been Mac. His gaze wandered out of the window without seeing anything, lost in thought. He wasn't aware of the touch of sadness over his features.

_

* * *

_

JAG headquarters, Fall Church, Virginia

"Ma'am!" Ensign Nancy Arden jumped up from her chair and practically ran towards Mac as soon as she rounded the corner. "Oh, ma'am, I'm so sorry this happened! I should have stayed longer on Friday. I should have-"

"Nancy, don't be silly. It wasn't your fault. Besides, it's just paint. I see they're already redecorating my office."

"Well, thank God!" Arden shuddered. "All this red, a dreadful sight! Captain Rockwell wants to talk to you about it as soon as possible. He said they have some additional questions to Friday. He and his staff have been working all weekend."

Mac sighed. "Yes, I expected that." She looked around. "Did they at least find me a spare office for the time being?"

"Oh, yes, yes, sorry, ma'am, I don't know where I left my head this morning. I'll show you."

Involuntarily Mac chuckled as she followed her assistant down the corridor. Her handbag dangled against her leg and she grew serious again. A moment her hand dropped down and touched it.

_

* * *

_

A part of Washington D.C.

Webb woke out of his dark musing as the car slowed down and finally stopped. He looked around in the dirty little street and up the dirty houses.

"You've got to get something for Rabb _HERE_?"

"I'll only be a minute." Ellis climbed out of the car.

"Well, I hope we still have all wheels when you return," muttered Webb sarcastically. In his experience streets like this tended to have a life of their own. And usually no one cared much if a car was stripped off its wheels ... or a throat was cut. Involuntarily he shifted uncomfortably as he remembered Mac's words yesterday.

He glanced impatiently over his shoulder while Ellis opened the trunk and rummaged through it. And just before the lid blocked his view he once more felt an uncomfortable familiarity as he saw the younger man's face. A strange nagging feeling that he was missing something. Then Ellis slammed the trunk lid shut and came to the passenger side's back door.

"Forgot something?" Webb asked dryly as the Lieutenant slipped into the back seat.

"No, Webb."

Old instinct made Webb start but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the cloth that was suddenly pressed over his nose and mouth. And in this second all pieces fell into place. Not JAG. _NOT_ JAG. The photograph in a file, on a computer screen, showing the man younger than he was now, his hair a different color and without sunglasses...

Involuntarily he screamed muffled as his head war jerked back against the headrest and a wave of dizziness clouded his eyes. His hands shot upwards in a desperate attempt to free himself or at least get some evidence under his fingernails but he dug in a thick leather glove. He tried to change direction and grabbed for the wrist but wasn't sure if his hands really did as he wanted. Then everything went black and he wasn't able to hear anything but the white noise of rushing blood in his ears.

His last conscious thought before the world tumbled over was how on earth Johnson could have known ... or better the answer to that question.

_

* * *

_

JAG headquarters

"Tell Captain Rockwell I'll be with him in a minute - no, tell him to come here. And take these files to Admiral Morris with my apologies. And I'll be in court afterwards!"

Mac shut the door of her interim office firmly, stepped around her briefcase on the floor and finally took the strap of her handbag off her shoulder. She hesitated a second after she had placed it on the desk, staring down at it.

By the time she had come down for breakfast Webb had already left the house and it had probably been better that way. Dinner yesterday evening had been exhausting enough. The silence. She hadn't known how she should meet his cool distance, how to react to his rigid self-control. It had been as if they were strangers. As if that moment of almost brutal honesty in the living room had never happened. Or maybe because of it.

Slowly she pulled a CD case out of her handbag and turned it in her hands.

She had tried to convince herself that the moment on the hill had meant nothing. That it had certainly meant nothing to Clay. That they had hurt each other too much in the past. Disappointed each other too often. Until she had finally started believing it. But now...

Mac sighed. It had been a strange little shop in the gas station where she had made Harrison stop to buy some juice. A very strange little shop ... as strange as the things the owner had decided to sell. Like books. Even audiobooks. But maybe he just knew how annoying a long drive with cranky teenagers could be.

Carefully she turned the cover of "_No magic at all_" around and glanced once more at the back. The reader's name was given as Zack E. Mainshare.

Mac looked up at the ceiling and bit her lips. It could not be coincidence. Not with Clayton Webb. But what left that to her?

_

* * *

_

Somewhere

Somebody jerked him back and forth and he moaned in feeble protest. Something was in his mouth and he wanted to spit out but his lips wouldn't open. An endless noise thundered in his ears. Again he was thrown around, his head hit a hard surface and it added to the throbbing pain of his headache. His stomach clenched at the smell of oil or gas filling his nostrils.

Webb rolled his head slightly. He tried to open his eyes but even this small effort sent a new wave of nausea through his body. The next second the world seemed to turn again and he couldn't hold back a whimper as he was violently shaken up and down. The uncontrollable movement in darkness increased the need to throw up but still he was unable to open his mouth.

Then the movement stopped and the most prominent noise died away. His surroundings shook again for a moment and a hard "bang" - seemingly directly in his head - made him wince. Then nothing.

A long time he simply lay there and breathed with relief. The nausea flooded up and down, sending either shivers or hot waves through him. He wanted to wrap his arms around his aching body but they didn't move although he could feel them, was lying on one of them rather painfully in fact. He stopped thinking about it.

Finally the dizziness faded somewhat and he managed to open his eyes. Into darkness. In raising panic he wanted to lift his head but immediately the nausea returned, making sweat pour down his face. He held still.

Listened to the confusing but distant sounds washing over him, becoming louder and clearer as the effect of the drug faded.

'Drug? What drug?'

The thought seemed to wade through mud but at least he didn't panic again. Carefully he tried to move his fingers but failed. Slowly he realized that his hands were tied behind his back with something sticky ... 'Duct tape?' ... It was even wrapped around his fists, covering them completely and obviously pinning them to his back by some layers around his body. The sticky substance covered his mouth too, gagging him effectively together with the thing in his mouth ... 'A cloth?' ... He moved his head slightly and his right cheek rubbed over some kind of rough carpet. Exhausted from the effort he just lay there again for a while, feeling sweat soaking his clothes.

'Johnson.'

Blinking he opened his eyes. It was still dark around him but he fought against the panic of his nightmares, against the memory of a different time when he was bound helplessly to a table, against the memory of a different threat... Threat.

'Sarah.'

Oh God, he was after Sarah.

A stab that had nothing to do with fear for his own life or health pierced through his body. With some effort he lifted his head and tried to penetrate the darkness with his eyes. It might be imagination but he wasn't sure if it was as complete as he had thought at first. Nevertheless he had the certain feeling of walls close around him. Still he smelled this combination of hot metal and plastic and a trace of oil or gas and now he recognized the earlier movement as what it had been.

A car. He was in the trunk of a car.

And he realized something else. He was almost sure the heat he felt wasn't a side effect of Johnson's drug. But the temperature was still rising. The car was standing in the sun.


	10. Fight

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Monday

_- JAG headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia _

"Sturgis, have you seen Lieutenant Ellis?"

"Good morning to you too, Harm. No, I haven't seen him. Why?" Commander Sturgis Turner raised his brows as his old friend sailed right past him. "Harm? Harm! Hey!"

"What?" Harm spun around. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Turner crossed his arms. "This is about Mac, isn't it?"

"Come into my office." Harm gestured then glanced back at the entrance and scowled. "Why does it take this boy so long to drive to Langley and back!"

_

* * *

_

Somewhere

For what seemed to be the thousandth time Webb rolled over his hurting right arm and up on his elbow. Then he craned his neck until he was able to tap his head against the lid of the trunk ... barely.

Tap, tap, tap. Pause. Tap, tap, tap.

Exhausted he fell back and greedily sucked hot air into his lungs. He was sure there was already a bruise on his forehead. Again he rubbed his face on the floor but the duct tape over his mouth still resisted any attack. And his muffled screams didn't seem to get past the walls of the trunk.

Closing his eyes he concentrated on the sounds outside. He was almost sure the car was standing in a corner of a parking lot. Maybe of a supermarket or something like that. The constant noise in the background he had finally identified as a busy street. From time to time he heard voices but usually too far away to make out more than single words if anything. And up to now his actions hadn't drawn the attention of the few people who had come closer.

"... and then I said to her - Timmy! - I said 'Mom, you really shouldn't say that' and - Timmy! - and Mel, do you know what she answered? - For heaven's sake, _TIMMY_, get over here this instant!"

Webb blinked. Did he already start imagining things or was the voice moving in his direction?

"And she really answered 'I'm still saying she is pregnant with his child' - _TIMMY_! This boy will be my death some day - can you believe this, Mel?"

Rolling over his arm Webb propped up on his elbow and craned his neck.

Tap, tap, tap.

"I mean, can you _BELIEVE_ this, Mel, if Mom's right it would mean that..."

Tap, tap, tap. Pain shot through his neck.

"_TIMMY_! Drop that immediately! Oh, this boy."

_TAP, TAP, TAP. _Webb started trembling.

"I swear he's absolutely like his father. He's -"

"Did you hear that, Viv?"

Webb's heart jumped.

"Hank can be so annoying sometimes -"

_TAP, TAP, TAP! _Webb collapsed back on the floor, shaking.

"- and I really don't -"

"Shhh, Vivian, didn't you hear that?"

"What?"

"That noise."

Webb tried to roll over again.

"What noise?"

"Some kind of tapping."

"I don't hear anything."

Webb fought desperately to find his balance on his elbow.

"Now it has stopped."

_TAP_! This time Webb hit his head so hard against the lid he saw stars.

"There! You must have heard that, Viv."

"Well, maybe..."

"Not maybe. It came from somewhere over there."

Tap, tap. Webb was shaking and shivering.

"I don't know, Mel..."

"There, from that car."

The second voice was so close now. Webb drew in a shuddering breath and managed one more effort.

Tap, tap. He fell back.

"Viv, there is something in that trunk!"

"Oh, don't go so close, Mel."

"Mommy, what is there?"

"Nothing, Timmy. Mel, I really don't know..."

"Come on, Viv, something is in there. It could be a dog."

"Where is a dog, Mommy?"

"Wouldn't a dog bark, Mel?"

"Maybe it can't. It must be hot inside."

"Oh, oh, Mel, don't touch it! You never know these days!"

Webb tried to shout as something knocked on the top of the trunk lid. But obviously the sound drowned in the noise from the street. Frantically he worked his body upwards.

"Hmm, now it has stopped again..."

Tap, tap, tap.

"There it was!"

"Mommy, is that the dog?"

"We don't know if there is a dog, Timmy."

Mel - if it was her - knocked again. Webb gritted his teeth and answered with a short delay. His heart beat faster as someone tried to open the lid.

"It's locked."

"Do you really think this is a good idea, Mel? This is none of our business-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Viv! Something is in there! In this heat! It could be even a child!"

"No! You don't really think... I can't hear crying. A child would be crying, believe me, Mel."

"Where is the dog, Mommy?"

"Oh, shut up, Timmy, if there is a dog it is inside."

Webb had gathered enough strength for another round of tapping before he went down again.

"Now I've heard it clearly. Maybe you are right, Mel, there _IS_ something inside."

"The question is what do we do? There has to be an owner but how do we find him?"

Webb shook his head violently.

"Maybe we should ask around? What else can we do?"

"Mommy, is there really a dog inside?"

"Not now, Timmy. I don't know either, Viv. Maybe call the police?"

Webb nodded enthusiastically.

"Isn't that a little bit much, Mel? I mean, we don't even know if-"

_BANG, BANG, BANG_.

Webb nearly jumped out of his skin as the sound vibrated in the trunk. His ears tinkled.

"_TIMMY_!" exclaimed both women sternly.

"Stop that!"

"Don't touch that!"

"But Mommy, you said-"

"That's enough now!"

"Hello, excuse me, but do you have a problem?" A male voice spoke up. "I saw you standing here for some time and thought maybe you've lost your key..."

"Oh, no, no, but there's something in this trunk."

"Something?"

"A dog, maybe. You can hear sounds."

Dutifully Webb got onto his poor elbow and tapped.

"Hmm. Yes, you are right. But I don't think it's a dog. A dog would bark. Maybe it's a cat?"

"See, Mel? I told you it can't be a dog."

"Oh, well, then a cat, all right. But something is in there and the trunk is locked."

"Are you sure?"

Somebody tried the lid.

"Locked. I told you," Mel stated with satisfaction in her voice.

Webb rolled his eyes.

_

* * *

_

JAG headquarters

"Colonel? Is everything all right?"

"What?" murmured Mac distracted. Then she blinked and stopped rubbing her forehead. She felt like she had walked against a wall. "No, I'm fine. Just a headache."

Captain Rockwell was still watching her concerned.

"It's nothing, Captain," Mac insisted with an impatient edge to her voice. Was the air conditioning not working? It was so hot in here. "If that's all now ... I've got work to do."

"Yes, I think we're through with everything. I'll go and talk to Commander Rabb now." Rockwell gathered his notes. He frowned. "Although I normally don't appreciate other officers interfering in my cases."

"Commander Rabb is a very thorough investigator. His help has been exceptionally useful on former occasions," Mac replied sharper than she had intended.

"Of course, ma'am. Commander Rabb's track record is well known."

Groaning Mac fell back in her chair as soon as the door had closed behind the man. Great. Now she had annoyed him. But at the moment she didn't have time to worry about that. Quickly she grabbed her files. She had to be in court.

_

* * *

_

Somewhere

"A cat. I say it's a cat. - No, no, that would sound different. A dog is more likely. - Maybe it's a parrot? - Why should it be a parrot for heaven's sake, then you would hear the wings. - Yo, man, a damn parrot an' flying? - Who has been talking to you? - And if it really is a child in there? - Oh, poor thing, we've got to do something. - Did anybody inform the owner of the parking lot? - What should the owner of the parking lot do? - Maybe we should call the police? - The police, really, the brave men have other things to do than look after some animal in a trunk. - Well, we pay enough taxes; they're supposed to do something. - Damn right, man. - What about the fire department? - How cruel to put a dog in there in this heat!"

Webb heaved a sigh. The suggestions who or what he was or what to do had increased at the same rate as the gathered crowd. And anyone was shouting to make him/herself heard over the noise from the street. He blinked sweat out of his eyes. The air in the trunk felt like soup.

Outside the discussion continued - still without a solution - when suddenly a deep voice interrupted.

"What's the matter here?"

"Oh! Officer, officer, there's something in the trunk of this car, an animal!" Viv. More voices chimed in until the officer called for a break.

"Now. One after the other. Why do you think there's something inside?"

"You can hear tapping."

Pause.

"I don't hear anything."

Oh. Webb remembered his part. He needed a few attempts to prop himself up. His head felt so strangely dizzy.

"But it was there! I-"

Tap ... tap ... tap. Webb fell back and panted desperately. He felt nauseous again.

"There!" several voices shouted.

"Yes..." The police-? officer agreed only reluctantly. "There was something. I think."

Webb cursed him silently but didn't have the strength for another try.

"It's becoming less frequent now. Just imagine the heat in there!" Mel. "We've got to open the car!"

"Well, ma'am, that's not that easy..."

"Easy, easy, something is dying in there!"

Webb mentally thanked the stubborn woman. He felt sweat trickling down his chest. Everything was soaked with it but the darn duct tape got only stickier.

"Ma'am, even if it is an animal we still need the owner of the car -"

"Bah! If the dog would be in the back seat no one would hesitate to break the window! The poor creature!"

Agreeing murmur.

"Well..." The police officer had a hard time arguing against such gathered moral superiority. "Have you tried if it's locked?"

"Of course!" Probably any of them had. "It does not open!"

Someone tried the lid.

"I told you."

Webb didn't know if he should laugh or cry.

"You've got to do something. - Yes, you can't let it die in there. - We've got to open the car. - The poor thing. - It must be unbelievable hot in there!"

"All right, all right. I'll call my station."

"Can't you pick the lock? You're a police officer after all."

"Ma'am, you need special tools to open a trunk without a key..."

"Oh, that ain't no problem, man."

"Boy...! Be glad I didn't hear that!"

Webb banged his head against the floor for a change.

_

* * *

_

JAG headquarters

"Uhm ... sir?" A very uncomfortable looking Lieutenant Ellis knocked gingerly at Harm's office door.

"Ellis! Finally! What has taken you so long, darn it?" Harm jumped up and looked around his assistant. Seeing nobody he frowned. "Where is Webb?"

"He - he wasn't there ... sir. I - I waited but..."

"Not there? What do you mean?"

"He - he had already left."

"Left?"

"I'm sorry, sir." Ellis' eyes were glued to the floor.

Harm stared at him a moment longer then turned and reached for the phone.

"Commander?"

Looking up Harm saw Ellis make a hasty retreat - with a strangely glad expression on his face - to allow a Navy captain access to the office. The man looked him coolly up and down.

"I'm Captain Rockwell. Colonel Mackenzie said you might have additional information about the threats against her."

A moment Harm's eyes wandered back and forth between the man and the receiver in his hand. Then he put it reluctantly back in its place. He forced an insincere smile.

"Yes, in fact I do. Please have a seat."


	11. Heroes

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Monday

_- Somewhere _

The air was sticky, almost simmering and maybe that wasn't far from the truth. Webb's breathing had become labored and short. He felt dizzy. A slow drum was beating in his ears in step with his heartbeat. He almost missed the gentle knocking on the trunk lid over it. But as he finally sorted it out he didn't have the strength to prop his body up and answer.

"This is taking too long." Mel. Or was it Viv? He couldn't tell any more. "It's so quiet. I haven't heard anything for minutes. We've got to do something!"

"They should be here soon. We've got to be patient."

"But it's dying in there!"

Webb blinked tiredly against sweat burning in his eyes. Dying. Was he dying? Somehow it didn't seem to matter any more. God, how he wished for a sip of water. How he wished it was over. But at the same time he knew with strange clarity that he didn't want to die. He never had.

Even in the tightest situation - shot, tortured or finding himself in a wheelchair for the rest of his life - he had never stopped fighting. Oh, he had thought about the possibility. Had actually methodically written down reasons for and against suicide after his accident - in code so his mother wouldn't have a fit if she ever stumbled across it... Well, at least not right away considering her abilities. He had kept the list for more than half a year in a book in his room before he had torn it to little pieces and flushed them down the toilet. Maybe he was just too stubborn to give up.

Or maybe the price for that kind of peace was always too high. No matter how often it had felt like it ... he wasn't alone in this world. He wasn't living in a vacuum. His death would hurt or affect people in a myriad of ways - his mother and Harrison, AJ ... yes, even some servants who would suddenly lose their jobs and income or his horses. And Sarah.

Webb closed and opened his eyes but now they weren't burning just because of the sweat. Sarah. He didn't know if or how much Sarah would mourn over his death; he didn't know a lot of things when it came to her, not lately, not any longer. But Johnson would try to kill her too. And Rabb didn't know, couldn't know, had no possibility to find out before it would be too late.

He wouldn't allow that to happen. He wouldn't. Not again.

Webb drew strength out of this train of thought. Methodically measured out his breathing - in, out, in and out - just as he had written down the list why to go on. The voices outside had started to blend with the noise from the street quite some time ago but suddenly some rose above it. Light and excited.

"Excuse me! Excuse me! Might I... Thanks! Here, here, pull it over!"

Other voices chimed in. "Whew, hand it over, sister. Gotcha. Hey, man, ain't no stupid girl over there! - Lift it up! Higher! That's it! - Here, I'll help you! - Pull a bit more at that edge, good!"

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Webb frowned confused at the strange sounds over his head.

People started clapping their hands but a male voice was complaining: "That's a nice effort but it will not lead to much. The tarpaulin is putting the trunk in shade but it will not really reduce the temperature inside."

Somewhat surprised Webb felt a sob well up in his throat. He didn't care that the man was probably right. But just to _KNOW_ that the sun wasn't burning directly on the lid any longer made the temperature go down at least ten degrees. Sometimes it was so easy to be grateful for little things.

_

* * *

_

JAG headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia

Mac fought against another wave of dizziness. Had she caught the flu? She sure felt hot enough for that. Quickly she reached for her glass of water only to feel another stab of pain in her arm. Where on earth had she bumped it against?

Feeling eyes on her she pulled herself together. This was neither the time nor the place for fainting. Not in the courtroom. Not in this trial. Not with that man sitting in the back.

Involuntarily her gaze wandered in his direction. Today she had paid for the first time real attention to this constant visitor in the courtroom and the way the man was staring back at her made her uncomfortable. Maybe Harm was right after all. Maybe she should not have dismissed his instincts no matter how angry she still was at him. His work related instincts had always been the one thing she had never doubted. She had fought against them, yes. Questioned them, yes. But she had never doubted them.

As strange shiver ran down her spine as Johnson answered her glance with something she could only describe as a smug smile that barely moved his lips. If he really was behind the threats against her, the man had amazing nerve ... or an extraordinary ego. In fact it was a little bit surprising that Rockwell's men had allowed him to enter the building... Well, maybe he had stationed some extra guards right outside instead because they had no solid proof yet.

Mac sipped again at her water to clear her head. She nodded towards the guard, put the glass aside and folded her hands. Lifting her eyes she focused on Private Vendell.

"Private Vendell. I've heard and took into consideration the arguments of defense and prosecution. And maybe I would have agreed to a minor punishment in this case if I had seen at least a tiny sign of regret from your side." She noted that Vendell's stiff posture started wavering. Emotions changed quickly on his face. "But I wasn't able to see anything like this. Sometimes I even wondered if you realize at all what you have done wrong. Destroying military equipment because of an accident is one thing. Destroying it because of a temper and on purpose another." Vendell shifted and Tiner hissed something. "Under these circumstances I don't have any other choice than to follow the suggestions of the prosecution and-"

"Stupid cow! All I ever wanted was a second chance!"

Everybody in the courtroom froze for a second after Vendell's outburst. Then Sturgis jumped to his feet, Tiner lost any color and grabbed the arm of his client, the guard made a step forward and Mac banged her gavel.

"Privat Vendell! You will be charged with disregard of this court! Lieutenant Tiner, I suggest you advise your client how to behave in a courtroom before he'll find himself in even more trouble!"

"Yes, ma'am - your honor, I'm sorry, ma'am - your honor!" Tiner's face was now very red.

In the turmoil nobody noticed that the door of the courtroom opened and shut quietly.

_

* * *

_

Somewhere

"Now, what do we have here? This car?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Well, should be done in a minute. Step back, please."

Webb's eyelids fluttered at the voices over his head. He moaned softly. Did he faint for a moment? Too exhausted to move he allowed his eyes to fall shut again. The scratching sounds from outside seemed so far away; he couldn't put them in logical context. A horn started blaring followed by surprised shouts.

"Looks like the alarm was set," the new voice commented calmly. Another screeching sound and the car shook slightly. Then the trunk popped open and Webb jerked backwards as light hurt his sensitive eyes. "There, here we... Oh my God! Frank! Over here! Harry, call an ambulance! Quick!"

"Jesus! Who can...? Mister, can you hear me? Can you hear me? Oh, damn it!"

Webb blinked up at the shadows bending over him as a hand patted his cheek then wandered down his throat to feel for a pulse. He tried to move his head but failed.

"Harry, the blanket in our car! The blanket! We've got to lift him out, the air is boiling inside! Sir! Sir! Can you hear me? Sir!"

Somehow Webb managed a feeble nod. Hands touched his body. Once more he lost track of things for a while but was painfully jerked back to reality as the duct tape was pulled off his mouth. Far away the sound of breaking glass and the blaring horn stopped abruptly. People were talking to him, shouting, but he didn't pay attention. At some point a competent voice took over and he felt needles pushing in his arm after the duct tape had been cut loose. It hurt as they tried to pick it off his fingers. Then a wet cloth cooled his hot face and he blinked slowly.

The sky was pink.

With the trace of a frown he blinked again and managed to turn his head a tiny bit. Now he was able to see the edge of the pink sky and arms and faces holding it: Black, white, brown, housewives, men, a gang of ragged teenagers he would normally not have liked anywhere near his car, girls in neat clothes - maybe a little bit short though - definitely a bit short - probably doing the shopping for their mothers... A hand pulled his face back and he found himself staring into concentrated eyes. The mouth was moving, had probably been for quite some time and he tried to focus.

"... hear me? Can you hear me? Please blink once if you can."

Webb did. Slowly.

"That's very good. I need your assistance here, do you understand? Do you understand? Can you feel that? Can you feel my hand on your leg?"

Webb opened his mouth but his throat refused to cooperate. So he rolled his eyes.

"You don't feel that? And that? That?" The man looked suddenly very concerned and exchanged a glance with his partner. He lowered his voice. "His feet have not been tied."

"You think of a back injury?"

"Probably. Maybe the hit on the forehead wasn't the only one."

Groaning Webb rolled his head from one side to the other. Again he tried to speak but all he got out was a hoarse sound.

"It's all right, sir. We'll take care of it just stay calm. Give me the water, Tom."

"... not..." The word was barley understandable but the best Webb could manage. "P - P..."

At least the man had a quick brain. "Paralyzed? You want to tell me you're paralyzed?"

Exhausted Webb managed one more nod. Gasps were heard around them and if he had had the energy he would have chuckled sarcastically. Obviously it was considered more disgusting to tie up and stuff a cripple into the trunk of a car than to do the same thing to a perfectly healthy man.

"Drink a little bit. Good ... no, no, not that much. OK, now get the stretcher over here. You, we need-"

Somehow Webb got hold of the man's arm as he turned away and tugged. He gathered all his strength. "Need ... cell ... phone."

"It's all right, mister, we'll bring you to the hospital now and..."

Webb tugged harder.

"Cell ... phone," he insisted and tried to glare at the other man. "... in ... there ... for ... reason... Kill ... kill..." He coughed. The men exchanged worried glances and turned to the police officers. Webb grimaced and panted. "... damn! Work ... for ... government..."

"He had no ID," mumbled one of the officers. But he pulled out a cell phone.

Webb closed his eyes for a second and tried to think. Then he whispered some figures. The police officer talked a second, almost snapped to attention and held the cell at Webb's ear. Webb smiled faintly and rasped out a few sentences before his head fell back and things got hectically again.

"In the ambulance. - Get the stretcher over here. - Careful, careful! - Take the infusion."

A silent crowd was watching as the man out of the trunk was lifted into the back of the ambulance. Some clutched the ugly pink tarpaulin to their chests. Mel and Viv had taken Timmy - who looked rather bored - between their massive bodies. The blond girl who had bought the tarpaulin was crying softly and a thin black teenager with a fierce scar in his face patted her back with surprising gentleness. Some men were nodding for no particular reason. Just before the doors closed the first police officer was called in, stayed there a few seconds and climbed back out. He scratched his head as the vehicle started moving then put his cap back on and turned.

"Uhm... He told me to tell you: The dog says thank you."

They blushed but smiled. A crowd of embarrassed heroes ... every single one of them.


	12. Timing

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Monday

_- JAG headquarters, Fall Church, Virginia _

"Ma'am? Colonel?"

Mac paused and turned giving Tiner a chance to step up to her. The young lieutenant she had first met as a sometimes weird acting petty officer took a deep breath.

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry this happened in the courtroom. I - I..."

"Tiner. It wasn't your fault."

"But - but I should have stopped him before he insulted you. I never thought he would do such a thing."

Mac smiled gently. "Strange or misbehaving clients are part of the job although they are the exception rather than the rule, thank God. You are not responsible. This was a tough case for you from the start but you handled yourself very well."

"You - you really think that, ma'am?"

"Of course I do. Admiral Chegwidden would have been proud of you."

Tiner looked slightly happier but still frowned. "Nevertheless, I should have..."

"Afterwards it's always easier, Tiner." Mac wanted to add something else but instead swayed as a wave of dizziness washed over her again.

"Ma'am? Are you all right? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine ... fine. It's nothing." Mac shook her head and hurried down the corridor, leaving a worried looking Tiner behind.

_

* * *

_

Harm's office

"Well... I guess that's all for the moment." Captain Rockwell glanced down at his notes then over at the phone on Harm's desk. "Too bad this ... acquaintance of yours in not available."

Harm gritted his teeth and bit back a sharp answer. Instead he faked another smile. "As you have seen no one is answering the phone. I assume Johnson will not be allowed to enter the building, right?"

"I'll be informed as soon as he gets his visitor's pass; the guards are looking out for him. As things are we don't have any legal reason to keep him out..."

"You must be kidding!"

"... but he won't go anywhere without a guard at his side," Rockwell finished with an icy glare. He pulled out a pager and checked it. "Up to now it looks like he's smart enough to stay away."

Harm wasn't satisfied. "I still think... What, Ellis?"

"S-sir, excuse me, sir, but Admiral Chegwidden on line two."

Harm sat upright. "Chegwidden? I'll take him."

Ellis hastily backed out and Captain Rockwell got to his feet, nodding a goodbye. "Commander..."

But Harm was already on the phone. "Good morning, Admiral, what... What?" He paled then turned red the next second. "_What_?" His facial color changed quickly back and forth until it settled in an angry blush. "_WHAT?_"

The receiver tumbled onto the table top and he was up and through the door, pushing a stunned Captain Rockwell out of the way. Ellis saw him coming and his eyes widened in fear but he was way to slow to dodge his enraged superior who grabbed him by the front of the shirt and slammed him backwards against the next desk.

"_WHERE IS HE?_" Harm shook the smaller man violently. "Darn little traitor, where is he?"

Ellis only gasped totally terrified. "I don't - I don't-"

"Stop lying to me! You told him! You never went to Langley! Where is Johnson?"

"Commander!"

"Harm! Harm!"

Harm was dully aware of hands on his arms but he didn't release his grip. Grimly he shoved his chin into the younger man's face.

"This is attempted murder, Ellis! And you are in on it too!"

"No. No!" Ellis voice wasn't more than a squeak. "He wouldn't ... he promised ... he would never..."

"He would! Oh, believe me, he would! And it's just because of a miracle that Webb is still alive! So, tell - me - where - he - is!" He pronounced each word with a hard shake. Ellis just stared at him and something in his round eyes made Harm stop. His body went rigid.

"He's here." It was barely a whisper. "You got him into the building!"

Ellis started sobbing. "He's my cousin. He's my cousin! He's the only family I have left!"

Harm opened his hands and stepped back. "Guard! Take him away or I don't know what I'll do!" Turning he found himself face to face with Sturgis Turner. He paled again. "Why are you not in court?"

"The sentencing is over. Harm, what on earth is going on here? Harm!"

But Harm was already running towards the doors calling back over his shoulder. "Send security to Mac's office! Quick! Johnson is in the building! He's after her!"

Turner cursed exceptionally dirty and reached for the next phone while Rockwell took off in the same direction as Harm.

_

* * *

_

The corridor to Mac's interim office

"Any calls while I have been in court?" Mac walked briskly past her assistant. "Or did you hear something from Commander Rabb?"

"No, ma'am, but Admiral Morris called to cancel the meeting this afternoon. And ma'am... Ma'am! Sorry, but the window cleaner is in your office."

"Window cleaner? I can't remember an announcement."

"He said they forgot some windows the last time. He promised he'd be only a minute."

Mac sighed and rolled her eyes. She waved her assistant off and continued toward the office door. She only wanted to be alone for a second to clear her head and figure out what was wrong with today. Her head was throbbing, her arm ached and on top of all that the skin of her hands had started burning as if she had waxed them. Darn it. The window cleaner would simply have to leave. Pushing the door open she stepped inside.

"Hello?"

She felt the presence behind her a split second before a strong arm encircled her waist, pinning her left arm to her body. But her right hand flew upwards already, slapped away whatever touched her throat and bringing the arm down again she elbowed her attacker fiercely just below the ribcage. He stumbled and she broke away, jumped forward, grabbed one of the visitor chairs and whirled around, swinging it wildly in a circle. The impact wrenched it out of her hands but the door was suddenly free and she didn't hesitate, grabbed the handle, jerked it open and ran out, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Guard! _GUARD_!"

Heavy boots thundered on the floor and she just stumbled to the side, pointed at her office.

"In there! Arrest the man!"

A hand grabbed her from behind and she cried out.

"Mac. Mac! It's me!" Harm pulled her into a tight embrace. And for a second she gave in and pressed herself against his body. His chest was heaving. "Mac, are you OK?"

She nodded against his shirt then lifted her head and stepped back. Hesitantly he released her. Two security guards were pulling a stunned Johnson roughly out of the door and down the corridor.

"He - he waited in my office." Mac noticed the tremor in her voice and stepped further back as if distance would help her regain control. She lifted an unsteady hand and brushed across a stinging pain at her jaw. A trace of red appeared on her fingers.

Harm's eyes widened. "Mac, you're bleeding!"

Mac stared at the blood and touched the tiny wound along her right jawbone again. She shivered.

"He - he had a knife." Now she remembered with strange clarity the blade flying through the air, remembered the sound as it hit first the wall then the floor on the other side of her desk. Involuntarily tears filled her eyes. "I - I didn't notice. I - I just slapped his arm away from my throat ... I slapped it upwards... Heck, I almost cut my own throat as I fought him off!"

"Mac..." Harm reached for her but she pushed him away and started pacing up and down. He knew better than to stop her. It was her way of getting it out of her system, of dealing with the danger and so he shook his head warningly as Captain Rockwell stepped up to them through the gathering crowd.

"And they always complain that women can not defend themselves if an office is taken over." Shaking violently Mac brushed tears away and wiped more blood from the tiny cut at her jaw. She huffed, replacing fear with anger. "Ha! How should we if they insist that we wear these darn tight skirts in which you can't even place an effective kick? Not without a slit up to ... well, too high up anyway! By God, this time I'll hand in a petition and..."

"And I'll sign it as soon as it's on my desk," General Cresswell's stern voice cut in.

Everybody jumped and someone called guiltily "General on deck!" Cresswell waved them off impatiently. His clear eyes never left Mac's face.

"Colonel, are you all right? How bad is that cut?"

"Sir, yes, sir. It's just a scratch, sir." Mac lifted her chin. "I'm all right."

Cresswell turned his piercing gaze towards Rockwell. "Captain, I found Captain Sebring's memo about the destruction of Colonel Mackenzie's office on my desk this morning. Am I mistaken if I conclude that this incident is related to it?"

"No, sir, that is correct, sir." Rockwell snapped to attention. "We started a thorough investigation right away and Commander Rabb was able to provide additional information this morning." His gaze flickered over to Harm. "In fact his informant called just before the attack on Colonel Mackenzie."

Now Harm found himself in the focus of his superior's attention and almost shifted uncomfortably. "Well, not exactly, sir. Unfortunately Mister Webb was attacked too and is in hospital now-"

"_CLAY?_" shrieked Mac, causing Harm to take a step back and probably any head on this floor turn their direction.

General Cresswell heaved a sigh and suddenly reminded very much of his predecessor Chegwidden despite the fact that they could really be not more different in every way.

"Colonel, Captain, Commander... My office!"


	13. Reactions

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Monday

_- A hospital in Washington D.C. _

Clayton Webb sipped angrily at his cup of water. His face dangerously dark although calm on the outside ... an expression AJ would have known all too well.

He hated hospitals. He always had but after two years of treatments, therapies, catheters, infusions and more of that kind his distaste had turned a solid phobia. He hated feeling helpless, being at the mercy of strangers. Just as he had felt in that trunk.

Gritting his teeth Webb took another sip.

Yeah, that trunk he would never have ended up in if he had recognized Johnson from the start and damn, he should have despite the old picture, the man's masquerade, the uniform he was expecting or that he had still no clue what kind of connection was between the former Marine and Rabb's assistant. Damn that he had been so engrossed in finding a link between Johnson and Vendell that he must have overlooked something else. And damn that so far nobody had thought it necessary to call and tell him if Mac was safe.

Well, and of course it hadn't helped much to lighten his mood that a definitely concerned but fuming Harrison had stormed out of the room with the words: "I'll come back after you've stuck your head in a bucket of cold water!" just a few minutes ago. So Webb did neither bother to answer as he heard a reluctant knock at the door nor to lift his head as it opened after a moment.

"Clay?" Mac stepped hesitatingly into the room and breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good, you are awake."

Webb started slightly at her voice then narrowed his eyes. "Well, why shouldn't I be? I had quite a nice rest this morning. A little bit uncomfortable and hot but really not much to do."

Mac blinked a second, somewhat confused about the sarcastic comment but then the already impressive bruise on Webb's forehead caught her eye. Swallowing hard she walked towards the bed and sat gingerly on the edge of the chair beside it. She cleared her throat.

"Harm ... Harm drove me over. He's searching a parking space right now. General Cresswell sent me home for the rest of the day after all that happened." A moment she clasped her hands tightly without looking at him then she sighed. "Clayton, I'm so sorry you got dragged into this."

Webb had a sharp reply on the tip of his tongue but swallowed it as he saw the small band-aid™ on her right jawbone. He pointed at it.

"Johnson? Didn't AJ reach Rabb in time?"

"Oh, that. It's just a scratch." Mac - somewhat distracted by seeing the ice pack on the bed under Webb's right arm - touched the tiny cut. "The bastard waited in my office when I came out of court. I fought him off and the next second Harm was storming in with the cavalry."

Webb snorted bitterly. "Some hero I am."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Mac considered the man in front of her with growing concern, the ice pack forgotten. "Clay, are you all right? You look a bit flushed. Do you have a temperature?"

"Oh, could be." Webb shrugged exaggeratedly. "It happens easily without a spleen."

"_What_?"

He smiled at the ceiling. "I can say hello to Bud."

When there was no response he looked back at her. Her expression was shocked and a tiny bit angry.

"I didn't know that! Anything else I don't?"

Again he considered the ceiling and pursed his lips. "Missing kidney?"

"How can you joke about something like that!" Upset Mac jumped to her feet. And against her will it came out like an accusation.

Immediately Webb's head snapped around. "Oh, excuse me, but I've had more than two years to get used to it! It isn't all that new to _ME_!"

Mac stumbled a step backwards at this unexpected attack. Her eyes narrowed angrily. "Well, _SORRY_ I care!"

"Care? Why would you care, Mac? Why? After all these years?"

"I start wondering myself!"

"Well, then take your time finding the answer! Maybe you'll find a real one for a change!"

Mac's eyes were blazing fire. "How dare you!"

"Me? What, Mac? What? What did you expect? " Webb laughed into her face. "Excuse me, but _I_ didn't walk back into your life. _I_ let you go!"

"Let me go? Let me go?" Mac was fuming. "Oh, really? And when would you have told me that your pseudonym for the audiobooks is an anagram to my name?"

Webb jerked back. A moment he stared at her and if Mac hadn't been so angry and upset and simply at the end of her nerves she would have seen the panic in his eyes. But she saw his hand shaking as he tried to put the cup to the side and instinctively she reached out to take it from him.

It was the worst thing to do.

"_DARN IT, DON'T MOTHER ME_!"

Webb threw the cup across the room. It slammed against the wall, spilling the little water left in it all over the floor. And suddenly he wanted nothing more than to make her leave; she was too close, too real, stirring up emotions, the old, familiar pain he had thought buried safely deep down inside; needed to make her leave at all costs before she could see too much. His eyes dark with fury he rounded on her again.

"Who do you think you are? Florence Nightingale? I don't need this! I don't need this from anybody! Why did you come back? Why did you come here? To pity me? Then take your pity and _GO HOME_ to your spoiled life and leave me alone! Go back to Harm! Go back to whoever you want! But just leave me alone!"

Again Mac stumbled backwards under his seething rage and it fueled her own. "Pity you? Pity you? _MY_ spoiled life?" She stormed towards the door. "I wouldn't dream of pitying a jerk like you!"

The slamming door shook the room and it shook Webb down to the core. An endless moment he just stared at it in disbelief. Then he fell back into the pillow and groaned.

"Oooh, idiot, idiot, _IDIOT_!"

_

* * *

_

Harm's car, en route to Georgetown

Harm stole another little glance at the woman in his passenger seat. Her dark expression hadn't changed since she had nearly knocked him down in the hospital corridor and slapped a harsh _'Drive me home! Now!_' around his ears. A little guardian angel had told him just in time not to object. Again he glanced at her.

"Hmmm... You want to talk about it?"

"No!"

"OK," Harm agreed quickly and rolled his eyes against the windshield. Mac kept glaring down at her hands. A few minutes passed.

"He is such a jerk!"

Harm cocked an eyebrow at her sudden outburst but remained silent.

"An idiot!"

He said nothing.

"Stupid idiot."

Pause. Harm waited.

"All I wanted to do was to take this stupid cup for him. And he blew up at me." She snorted. "Pity him!"

Next pause. Harm risked a glance. She was tugging at her shirt. Hard.

"He had no reason to snap at me like that. Not one single reason!"

Silence again.

Harm inhaled deeply. "You know, after my accident ... after they had told me I had to quit flight duty because of my night vision... I really wanted to slam my fist into the face of any pilot who ran across. I wanted to wipe that darn pitying, understanding smile out of their faces, out of their eyes..." He sighed. "A long time I wanted to hit anybody who looked at me so - so darn gentle whenever they learned the reason why I had to stop flying ... even you."

Mac slowly turned her head and stared at him. "You never told me that. You never talked about it."

He kept his eyes on the road. "Pity hurts, Mac. Somehow it hurts the most. Ask Bud. And don't ask me how Clayton blew up at _ME_ last Thursday when I started telling him that I'm sorry."

Mac looked through the windshield. "It ... it was a stupid cup. And he barked at me right from the start ... as soon as I had set foot in his room... He - he got angry when I told him how I kicked Johnson's butt before the guards arrived. Talked weirdly about heroes and that he had had a nice rest in this trunk..."

"A guy has his pride, Mac."

She snorted. "Pride? _PRIDE_? That's what this is all about? Some stupid macho thing?"

"Oh, don't be fooled, Mac." Harm slowed down and stopped in front of a red light. "It may be in vogue to be a softie but centuries of conditioning are not that easy to overcome. Any man still dreams of rescuing the woman from highest danger illogical and unnecessary as it might be." He tapped on the steering wheel. "I mean think about it, Mac. You've seen Webb in many low points of his life ... Columbia ... Paraguay ... when he had those shaking hands... And just to mention it - sometimes you caught me at the wrong time too. A guy doesn't like that. I guess lots of women wouldn't like that either."

Again he traced a finger up and down the round. When he heard nothing he reluctantly turned his head and found her staring at him with a strange expression on her face. He shrugged.

"Why have you never been able to talk like this while we were married?" Mac asked finally.

A wry grin played around Harm's lips. "Why have you never been able to listen like this?"

Mac sat back and closed her eyes. "Touché."

The traffic light changed to green and Harm shifted gears. Some minutes they drove in silence before they had to stop again. Mac rubbed at the band-aid™ on her jaw.

"Why are you doing this?"

Harm looked at her. "Why am I doing what?"

Mac made a vague gesture with her hand. "This ... everything. Why are you still here? Why am I sitting in your car? Years and years we danced around each other, hurt each other and when we tried we failed, we got divorced ... and sometimes it was so ugly. Why are you still...?" She paused and shook her head.

Harm sighed. "Maybe because I still care? Maybe because you are still important to me and I - I still wonder if we have a second chance ... to make things right?" He looked into her eyes. "Despite the fact that it _WAS_ ugly sometimes?"

"Oh, Harm." Mac put her head back and stared into the blue sky. "Don't you think we've had enough second chances for more than one lifetime?"

Smiling sadly Harm shifted gears. "True. But I'm not talking about getting back together. I - I mean - I wanted to say that ... just because we are - uhm - _NOT_ ... doesn't mean we've got to disappear out of each other's lives, does it?"

"I don't know, Harm. I simply don't know." Mac heaved a sigh of her own. "You really think we could pull this off? As ... friends? On average that's highly unlikely for a divorced couple."

"When have we ever been like the average?"

She chuckled. "And again you have a point."

He just grinned. The ringing of a cell phone interrupted any further conversation. Harm fished his out of his breast pocket and answered. "Rabb. Yes, she's here. One second." He held it out to Mac. "Your assistant. You forgot your cell at the office."

"Oh." Mac frowned. "Nancy? No, no, not at all. Tomorrow? No, I'll be in. No, it's not necessary to cancel the meeting. Yes, I'm sure. No problem, Nancy, it was right to ask I should have told you. Bye."

Mac lowered the cell phone in her lap. Harm stopped in front of the old townhouse she had moved in after they had given up their joint apartment. A moment they just looked at each other then Mac opened the door and struggled out of the corvette. She took her time digging out the keys. The silence was somewhat awkward. Finally Mac lifted her eyes again and met his.

"Well..."

"Well..." Harm tapped on the steering wheel then suddenly held out his hand. "Then ... so long ... partner."

Mac tilted her head, blinked ... and took it in a strong grip. The corners of her mouth twitched. "At least you didn't call me Tonto."

Harm grinned - his unbelievable flyboy-grin - and squeezed her hand. "I would not have dared."

Laughing shortly Mac shook her head at him and turned away. He watched her climbing up the three steps to the entrance. In the doorway she looked back over her shoulder and gave him a last smile that he answered with one of his own. Then he nodded slowly to himself and reached for the key. Partners, yes. Maybe friends again, one day. Maybe they had finally settled the dance for good. He turned the ignition and peered in the side mirror then pulled out into the street.

Meanwhile Mac had crossed the stairwell and slid the key into the lock of her apartment door. After pushing it open she watched a second as it started closing on its own. How many times had she cursed the damn thing because of that. Under normal circumstances she would never have considered first floor anyway ... but she had been so eager to move out of their joint apartment at that time she would have taken almost anything. She had thought she would never be able to be in the same room as Harm again. Now... It felt good. It felt right. It felt as if a huge weight had finally been lifted off her shoulders. Smiling to herself she set her briefcase on the floor, turned to put the keys on the small table ... and found Harm's cell phone still in her hand.

"Oh, darn it!"

Cursing she spun around, grabbed the door just as it was about to fall shut and run out and through the stairwell. The door opened wider still from the push she had given it, stopped a second as the energy faded and slowly started closing again.

"Harm!"

Mac jumped down the entrance steps and looked both sides. To the left she saw the tail lights of Harm's corvette light up as he slowed down to take the corner. The apartment door moved steadily.

"Harm!"

Once more glancing left and right Mac ran out on the street, waving the cell phone.

"Harm! Your cell!"

The apartment door hesitated a split second, riding on an invisible draft of air through the small gap to the frame ... and fell shut. The explosion rocked the building, shattered most windows in the next houses and sent Mac flying in a hail of broken glass and stones, almost ten feet across the street.


	14. Little Things

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

August 2007, Monday

_- Emergency room of a hospital in Washington D.C._

"Where is that doctor, darn it?"

Annoyed Mac ran a hand through her slightly wet hair. She felt hot, uncomfortable and wanted to go and kick Johnson a second time real good or maybe just jump out of her itching skin.

"Mac..."

"Oh, shut up, Harm! It's one hour and seven minutes since he was seen last."

The nurse had really done her best to clean away most of the dust but Mac still wished for a long although not necessarily hot shower. Unfortunately that wasn't an option at the moment ... or anytime soon, considering and not only because she didn't even have a place to do that any more. Scratching her face - that was plastered with no less than five band-aids™ now - she tried to find a more comfortable position on the bed.

"Mac -"

"I've got no broken bones, no internal bleeding and only three cuts needed stitches." Mac shifted again and suppressed a groan. "I really don't know why it takes that long to-"

"Mac!" Harm rolled his eyes. "Could you please stop that? Just watching you makes me hurting all over and I don't even have all these bruises and abrasions. Or that concussion."

"Light concussion, please," Mac snapped irritably.

"And they've got more than enough to do out there," Harm continued as if she'd said nothing. "Be patient, most of the time you talked to the police and Rockwell anyway."

Mac muttered under her breath but lay back and Harm sighed with silent relief. A shaken, barely conscious Mac had scared him to death but the overdrive version was starting to get on his nerves. Not that she hadn't every right to be upset but nevertheless it was ... exhausting.

Some minutes passed. Mac stared at the ceiling. She didn't want to close her eyes. She knew when she closed her eyes there would be this vague memory waiting for her.

This vague memory of breathless silence after the explosion, the street frozen in shock; of a red corvette roaring backwards through the dust and coming to a screeching halt. The memory of doors flying open on both sides of the street, the noise of upset screams and questions ... of Harm running towards her through rubble and broken glass his face white with panic.

She remembered being cradled in his arms, shocked, confused, stunned, fighting to understand. Fighting to look around him and at the house and apartment that held anything she possessed, anything that mattered to her. Her own stammering voice.

She remembered the sound of sirens in the distance.

The picture of the ruins of the house burnt into her brain ... the front of the first floor almost completely missing, the second floor badly damaged, ceiling hanging freely. Looking as if a giant had taken a bite out of it. Smoke and dust and debris everywhere.

"Any word if they have found the woman who lived upstairs yet?"

Harm avoided her eyes as he shook his head. "Last thing I heard was that they were still searching for her."

A moment Mac cupped her face in her hands, gritted her teeth hard enough that pain shot through her jaw. But there was nothing - _NOTHING_ she could do right now. And that was the worst thing. She looked at her former husband again.

"Harm, you shouldn't be here. Rockwell told you that Cresswell is expecting you back at JAG headquarters for a full report as soon as possible."

"Emphasis was on 'as soon as'. So there's room for interpretation."

"Harm... That's asking for trouble."

"I will not leave here until it's clear where you'll stay the night."

"Didn't we already have this conversation a few days ago?"

Harm smiled ruefully. "I guess my apartment is still out of the question?"

"Yes."

A short uncomfortable silence followed Mac's quiet answer. And both of them knew that while they had made the first step it would still take time ... lots of time for the wounds to heal. They jumped as someone cleared his throat at the door.

"Ms. Mackenzie is of course welcome to stay with us as long as she wants to. Her bag is still at the house anyway."

"Harrison!" Mac's eyes grew wide with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Webb's domestic stepped carefully into the room, "Commander Rabb was kind enough to inform me of what has happened. Besides, it's all over the news."

"Oh." Mac shot Harm a glance who shrugged. "Well, I'm ... grateful for the offer but..."

"I'm sure it would be the best solution. If I understood correctly Commander Rabb is supposed to return to his office. At the house you would have company ... just in case."

"Well..."

"The doctor will probably agree easier to release you instead of keeping you for the night," Harrison insisted with somewhat unusual force. "Your room is still prepared."

"I...," Mac blushed. It had a rather strange effect on her bruised face. "Harrison, I really appreciate that you drove over and... But - but I don't know... I'm not sure if you know what - what happened ... between..."

"Ms. Mackenzie," Harrison interrupted sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The only thing that kept Clayton from dragging himself out of bed - despite fever, dehydration and all - was that I've promised to make you stay at the house until you are well again. And if you're not he will not be bearable for days and weeks. So would you please have some mercy on an old man!"

Mac stared at him, jaw hanging. A helpless look at Harm showed her that he was equally speechless. So she finally snapped her mouth shut and swallowed.

"Well, uhm, uh ... OK."

**

* * *

**

October 2007, two months later

_- Webb residence, in the evening _

And so she had stayed.

Mac put her chin in her hand and looked through the window into the dark and stormy night. Raindrops like shimmering pearls still covered the glass from outside, illuminated by the soft light of the living room. The long and unusual hot summer had finally turned a cold and rainy fall ... a constant source of complaints for people who had cursed the heat as long as it lasted. Mac pursed her lips as her mind wandered again.

It was one of life's little ironies that she had almost got killed by a man who had been arrested hours ago. The final police report confirmed that Johnson had placed the bomb in her apartment on Friday, just after he had invaded her office. That had been his first mistake. If he had left the room at JAG headquarters alone she would really have died that day. But as things were she never went back to her apartment ... and everything took a different turn.

Involuntarily Mac sighed. Johnson's trial would begin in two weeks and Ellis, Harm's assistant or better ex-assistant, would testify for the prosecution. Stupid, poor little Ellis who had been torn between incompatible loyalties ever since he had found out that his distant cousin was behind the letters Ensign Arden had told him about and which he had so innocently reported to his superior. Mac almost felt pity for him considering how Johnson must have rounded on the young man after his confrontation with Harm in the corridors of JAG headquarters. Almost. Because it had been Ellis' blind belief in his last living relative that had nearly caused Clayton's death. A relationship that was nowhere documented because it was - as some investigator had put it rather cruelly - 'the result of a fling'.

Vendell still insisted that he had never asked his friend for help or had ever known of his activities or even knew him that well. But this lie fell more and more apart because more and more evidence was found that the two men had been in the same high school although in different classes, had always kept in touch although they had never served together.

Johnson himself kept an iron silence. He didn't even tell where he had disposed of Webb's wheelchair, ID or cell phone. None of these things had turned up again, much to Clay's annoyance. The copy of the file had been found hidden in Johnson's own car. The psychiatrist who had talked to the former marine and ex-agent described him as intelligent, cold, calculating and lacking any moral understanding. For him she still had attacked his best friend ... reason enough to punish her.

"Check."

"Huh?" Startled Mac turned back around and met the eyes of the man who was sitting across from her. Then she lowered her gaze on the chessboard between them. "Oh dear."

Her black king was threatened by two bishops and a queen while a white pawn was just one step from reaching her end of the board and being transformed into a second queen. Three weeks ago Webb had announced that she was more than good enough now and had taken his queen back into the game. And although he still beat her most of the time she was slowly becoming a real match for him ... at least as long as she paid attention.

Staring down at the black and white stones Mac felt a strange pain in her chest.

She had got used to these silent evenings they spent in front of the chessboard, playing for hours without a word. She had got used to coming from the office, changing into comfortable clothes and settling down at his side, on the sofa in the living room or outside on the terrace. She had learned soon that a paraplegic was by no means in his wheelchair from dawn till dusk. Sometimes they talked about their day, watched TV or listened to some CDs ... or just sat together reading their respective books. Sometimes she worked on some fossils she had bought, cleaning them carefully while Webb played a little on the piano. Or she listened to him practicing for a take at the studio - now that they had started recording _'This time it's magic'_ - and gave advice how to read a tricky part best.

Except for the first two weeks they had been at the stables almost every weekend and much to her own surprise Mac had agreed to riding lessons. It had turned out to be fun although the huge difference between _SITTING_ on a horse and _RIDING_ it still amazed her. A few times she had accompanied Webb on his frequent visits to his mother. It was hard to tell if Porter Webb recognized her - or even her son. But the old lady seemed always pleased to see them.

Every now and then AJ came over and worked with Webb in the gym. Usually he stayed for dinner or even the night then and the three of them had had many interesting conversations. They had gone to a match of one of his baseball teams once. It lost.

Even Harm had stopped by twice. He and Webb still reminded her of two dogs carefully circling around each other with raised hair but at least they were talking. Besides, they had never been the buddy-buddy kind of friends.

She had made a careful truce with Harrison. Neither she nor Webb had ever mentioned that moment on the hill. They had never talked about the fight in the hospital.

She had never told anybody about the strange manifestation of her 'gift' while Webb had been locked into that trunk.

"Mac?"

Once more Webb's calm voice snapped her out of her musing. She looked up and found him smiling at her.

"Hard day at work?"

Mac stared blindly for a second. She knew she should tell him, had to tell him but nodded instead.

"You want to talk about it?"

It was an offer not a question and she knew Clay wouldn't press her. He never did. Mac looked at the chessboard. She opened her mouth and shut it again. Running her fingers through her hair she exhaled.

"Clay... Would you mind if I give up and go upstairs? I'm tired."

"Of course not. Have a good night."

Mac got to her feet and smiled at him and Webb smiled back. In the door she hesitated and looked back over her shoulder. He was quietly sorting the pieces in their start position an absent look on his face. The sure movement of his hands drew her gaze as he turned the stones so they were facing their counterparts across the chessboard. A little habit she had noticed for some time now.

And again a pain she hadn't expected shot through her heart. Biting her lips she turned quickly and headed for the stairs. The little things, yes. The little things were what made her so comfortable here in this house. Small, tiny gestures ... normally unnoticed but always there, giving peace, offering reassurance.

It had been the loss of the little things that had saddened her most after the destruction of her apartment. Clothes and furniture and kitchen equipment all that could be purchased again. It was uncomfortable and expensive and annoying but bearable. But the precious little things with lots and lots of memories attached to them ... they were gone forever. The drawing the little Indonesian girl Liliana had given her years ago. An ugly baseball cap she had bought together with an equally ugly twin on a trip with Chloe. And how they had laughed all day wearing them. All her books and notes about paleontology and the plaster casts of dinosaur footprints from 'her' rock in Arizona; plaster casts she had taken herself as a child together with Uncle Matt. Everything was destroyed, vanished, blown up in flames.

Her landlord had been visibly relieved when she had told him she would not go back into the apartment after the renovation. In fact there would not even be a renovation because the substance of the house was too badly damaged and the costs would be too high. Instead the building would be torn down and replaced by a new one. It was a miracle that no one had died that day; thank God the woman who lived upstairs had been at work. The various insurances and lawyers were having a feast putting together who would have to pay for what.

So Mac had started looking for a new home. She must have visited more than a dozen apartments so far but something had always been wrong. Either the rent was too high or she didn't like the neighborhood, another time the distance to JAG headquarters was inconvenient or the arrangement of rooms not suitable. But the one she had visited today had been perfect. Exactly what she had been looking for. Spacious, tasteful, a fair rent. She should be happy. She should have told Clay. Instead...

Entering her room and sitting down on her bed Mac stared blindly at the wall. She didn't know why she hadn't. It was beyond all question that she needed to find an apartment. She could not stay forever. It didn't matter that he had renewed his offer to stay as long as she wanted to. The whole situation was not right. It was impossible. It had always been. She knew that. But ... but tomorrow was soon enough to tell him. Yes, tomorrow she would tell him.


	15. Check

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

October 2007

_- Webb residence, long past midnight _

Mac woke with a start and sat upright in bed, a strangled wail in her throat, sweat glistening on her face. Looking around wildly she threw back the blanket and rolled out of bed, stumbled towards the door over the ever-changing pattern pale moonlight and racing clouds painted on the floor. A desperate sound escaped her lips as her fingernails scratched over the wooden surface before she managed to jerk it open. Gasping and sobbing, still entangled in her dream, she padded barefoot through the dark corridor, steadying herself against the wall, nearly falling twice in her haste to reach his door. A moment she grabbed blindly at the handle, throwing all her weight against it, stumbled inside and stared into the shadows. Then she sagged against the door frame, shaking with relief her knees suddenly weak.

He was there. Her head touched the wood and she closed her eyes. He was there she could see his still form in the bed, under the blanket. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead. He was alive. He was... He wasn't snoring. New fear washed over her and she stood upright. He wasn't snoring. He wasn't... He was lying on his back and he was - he wasn't snoring!

Again the nightmare closed around her like an iron fist, forming a lump in her throat, choking her. Pushing off the door frame she stumbled forward, her panic rising with each reluctant step. A new tear slipped down her face. Reaching out she forced herself to keep going, to put one foot in front of the other, nearer and nearer towards the bed until she reached its side. Her hand shook uncontrollably. She stopped just before touching him, her fingers hovering only inches above his pajama-clad chest.

And a slow, almost painful smile crept on her lips. He was warm. She - she could feel his warmth on her skin, could feel and see the soft rise and fall of his chest, could heard his calm breathing. A deep sob was ripped from her throat and she pressed her eyes shut, stifled the sound. He was alive. He was really alive.

But suddenly knowing wasn't enough. She needed to touch him, feel him, just for a second, just for a moment to be sure, to chase the nightmare away completely. And without thinking she lifted the blanket and crawled under it, snuggling up to his body, melting into his warmth. Sliding one arm over his stomach she rested her head on his shoulder, her knee, her toes stroke his legs as she rolled closer still.

Webb stirred at the touch, shifted his head, exhaled slowly without waking. The rhythm of his breathing changed almost imperceptibly and a first soft snore escaped his slightly opened lips.

Mac smiled and closed her eyes and as she did one last tear escape from under her heavy eyelids. A minute. She inhaled deeply, took in his scent - a mixture of what she could only describe as _HIM_, the soap he had used in the evening, a little sweat and just a trace of medical powder - that mingled with the fresh smell of recently washed cloth; buried her nose in his pajamas. Only a minute. She would be only a minute. But she needed this. Just for a minute. A minute.

_

* * *

_

Webb residence, early morning

He had had a dream. A wonderful dream ... of Sarah in his arms, her body next to his and wrapped around him... It had been so real he could still smell her scent, could still feel her warmth, her touch... Such a wonderful dream.

Webb slowly opened his eyes and blinked, filled his lungs with air. Grey morning light filtered in the room, deepening the shadows and chasing them away at the same time. The rain must have stopped sometime during the night. Something tickled his jaw and as he lowered his chin her hair brushed over his lips.

Staring down at her he needed some time to comprehend that it hadn't been a dream. That she was really here, in his bed. One of her arms was thrown across his chest, holding him tight and as he lifted his head a bit more he saw that their legs were entangled too.

Carefully laying his head back on the pillow he closed his eyes. For a second he allowed himself to simply enjoy the moment. To turn his head and bury his nose in her hair, taking in her presence, drinking in the sensation of being so close to her. Then he blinked again and smiled sadly. It was still a dream. A wonderful, wonderful dream but he knew it couldn't last.

He had never known that she had a tendency for sleepwalking but it was the only explanation. The only thing that made sense. And now he had to figure out a way to wake her up without embarrassing her to the bone... His alarm clock went off.

Webb squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed a silent curse.

Mac made an unwilling sound of protest, stirred, lifted her head and finally looked at him with sleep clouded eyes. She blinked then blinked again. He offered a hesitant smile. She started smiling back but the next second her face froze in shock. Sitting up abruptly she stared down at him and deep red heat colored her cheeks.

"Mac..."

Webb wasn't sure what he wanted to say but he never got a chance to finish his sentence anyway. Mac backed away so quickly, she nearly fell off the bed, taking most of the blanket with her. Clutching the collar of her pajamas with both hands she stared at him in embarrassed terror and started backwards in the direction of the door.

"Mac!" Webb probed up on his elbows but she had already turned and ran out of the room.

Cursing Webb lunged at the alarm clock and silenced it with a sharp slap. Then he reached for the bar above his bed and dragged his body towards the wheelchair as fast as he could.

* * *

He found her standing in the middle of her room, still clenching the collar of her pajama top in one hand, the other clapped over her mouth. Her back was to the door and he stopped, looking at her. If she had noticed his entrance she didn't show it.

"Mac."

She didn't move. But she knew he was watching her.

"Mac. We've got to talk."

His voice was so gentle. Mac closed her eyes and shook her head almost imperceptible. Tears stung behind her eyelids. How could she have done this? How could she have made such a fool out of herself? How could she look into his eyes after this morning? She heard a soft sigh.

"Mac ... please. I... Waking up in your company is a lovely experience but now you are embarrassed and I don't want that. Please. Help me understand."

She lowered her head. Then she whispered: "I had a nightmare."

"Tell me about it."

Mac bit back a sob and glued her eyes to the next wall. "It... I was in that apartment. With Sadik. Where he had forced me to go. I - I fought against him. First with words and then ... physically. Just as we had done. We struggled for the gun. He hit me but I managed to throw him back and the gun was in my hand and I - I ... shot him. And then I looked in his eyes and shot him a second time." She took a shuddering breath. "And before I did I told him that this was for Clayton Webb."

She had to stop. And for a second she was there again. There in her nightmare and she wrapped her arms around herself, trembling with shock and fear and panic. It had been so real. It had been ... so real. Again she pressed a hand to her mouth.

Wheels scratched quietly on the floor as he pushed his wheelchair an arm's length forward. His voice was barely a whisper and she knew immediately what he was talking about.

"In Italy I killed for the first time. A woman. Her name was Theresa Marcello. She ... was a terrorist of old school, doing it for money after most of her ideals had vanished with the end of the cold war. She would have killed Tim and another colleague and me and many innocent people. Without a second thought. But sometimes I still have nightmares about it. Sometimes I still see her lying in this bed of flowers with this hole in her head. And I'm scared of what I've done."

Mac closed her eyes.

"It wasn't Sadik I saw lying dead on the floor. It was you. I had shot you."

Silence. Time itself seemed to have stopped existing.

"Look at me."

Slowly she lifted her head but couldn't bring herself to face him.

"Sarah. Look at me."

She wanted to. She really wanted to. Instead she stared at the wall and said hoarsely: "I've found a new apartment."

And as the words left her lips she realized that she didn't want to go. She didn't want to face the rest of her life without him. She didn't want to miss his eyes light up when he handled his horses. She didn't want to live without his sarcastic little comments about her work. She didn't want to give up the way he cocked his eyebrow when he set her checkmate in chess. Little things. Precious things. She had no right to feel that way. She had no right to hope for a second chance. But she couldn't change her wishes.

Opening her mouth in desperate determination she turned around - and froze. The soft click as he pulled the door shut from outside seemed to echo in the room.


	16. Second Chances

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

October 2007

_- Webb residence, in the morning _

Mac had a lonely breakfast. This time Webb had not been waiting for her when she had come down from her room and into the kitchen.

And once more she realized how much she had got used to seeing him sitting at the front table, peeling oranges or cutting apples. When she entered he would turn around and get the pot of freshly brewed coffee, pouring her a cup and pushing the sugar in her direction. She would watch him sip his white coffee - he had difficulties with too much caffeine since his accident - and accept the slices of fruit he offered her. None of them was much of a talker that early in the morning. Harrison would step in for a moment and put the morning newspaper on the table then have a look around to make sure everything was all right before disappearing again in silence. After studying the most interesting headlines, handing the different parts wordlessly back and forth, she would say a quick goodbye, maybe wish him a good day at the studio, and he would smile back in response, shortly lifting his eyes from the paper. Then she would go back to her room, put on her uniform and leave the house to drive to JAG headquarters.

She had never paid much attention to this little ritual. Not until the loss of it sent a searing pain through her body.

Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Mac shook her head at herself. What on earth had she expected? She had pushed Clay away three years ago. She had pushed him away this morning. And she had done a really good job on it. Of course he avoided her company now. What else was he supposed to do - run after her? After all that had happened? After she had hurt him once more, had once more turned the knife in his wound and her own? Did he even feel the tremble, the stirring of an unnamed longing as she did? But if he didn't why had he fled from the room?

_'Waking up in your company is a lovely experience but now you are embarrassed and I don't want that. Please. Help me understand.'_

Running a hand through her hair Mac clung to these words. Did he feel it? Did he move towards her lips on that hill? He had turned away, yes. Of course. _SHE_ had ended it three years ago. _SHE_ had made the decision, had sent him away. How could she expect him to make the first step and maybe burn his fingers a second time? As Harm had said: A man had his pride ... just as any woman.

Maybe, if she had reached out, it would have been different. Maybe, if she had found the strength to talk to him, she would have had a chance. But her stupid, cruel words of this morning had spoiled it all. How could he ever forgive her? How could he ever forgive her that she had walked all over his feelings again? Not all crawling in the world could make up for that. Again Mac stared at herself in the mirror. She didn't like what she saw. The corners of her mouth curled up in a bitter smile.

"Coward."

The whispered word hung in the air.

Yes, that was what she was. A coward. She was always waiting for the man to make the first step. She always had. Chris, John Farrow, Mic, Harm. Clay. She never wanted to be the one in charge, the one responsible. Neither at the beginning ... nor at the end until Clayton had taught her that lesson with painful intensity. Something even Chris had not been able to do. There she had simply run away, hadn't even filed for divorce. Some woman she was. She was living in the 21st century for heaven's sake! And for the first time in her life she was absolutely sure of what she wanted. In a strange way surer than she had ever been about Harm. Maybe it was time to take fate in her own hands and throw caution to the wind. She could not more than fall.

One last time she met the eyes of her reflection and straightened her uniform in grim determination. "Well, lady, and if that means to grovel than groveling it is."

Turning on her heel she stormed out of the bathroom and into the corridor. She knew where she had to go. She simply knew it. Almost running down the stairs she paused outside the living room and steeled herself with a deep breath. Then she stepped in.

He had placed the wheelchair in front of the chessboard, was looking down at it and involuntarily her gaze was drawn to it too. Black and white marble stones standing across from each other. Two armies ready for the first move. Ready to start the battle.

Mac forced herself to wait in silence. Waited for him to acknowledge her presence. Webb shifted on of the pieces then put his hand back in his lap.

"When do you plan to move out?" The words fell into the silence like heavy stones, bare any emotion. His eyes never left the board.

"The apartment will be free by the end of this month." Mac swallowed. "So the first would be the logical date ... if you don't give my any reason to stay."

She held her breath as something intense flickered briefly across his face. He turned further away from her.

"A reason. What kind of a reason could I give you?"

"Yourself."

The silence after her answer was complete. He didn't move and neither did she. Her infallible sense of time told her how the seconds ticked by, the minutes.

"I can't."

She closed her eyes at his words but quickly opened them again. As if afraid he would disappear the moment she wasn't looking.

"Why?"

He didn't answer.

"Why, Clayton?"

"You will be late for office."

"And you will be late for studio. Why, Clay?"

"What could a man like I give you any more?" In sudden anger he turned to face her. "Look at me, Mac. Just look at me. I'm a cripple."

"And I'm barren." She met his startled gaze. "Yes, Clay. They found out while treating my backache. You never wondered why I and Harm never got there? Considering how much I wanted children? You think it was easy for me? To accept this?" She snorted bitterly. "To accept that Sadik was right after all?"

"Sadik was a sick bastard who would not have been right if he had said the sun rises every morning!"

Silence followed Webb sharp eruption. Mac didn't know how to react.

"It does," she pointed out finally.

Webb lifted one shoulder. "Well, technically speaking, the earth moves around the sun and it's its movement that changes the sun's position in the sky. So the sun is not exactly _RISING_ by itself."

"Oh."

Silence again. Webb turned back to the chessboard and ran a finger along one edge.

"Was that the reason why ... you and Harm broke up?"

"No. I don't think so." Mac shook her head slowly, crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Harm and I... Somehow we ... never worked out. It didn't fit - whatever explanation that may be. I guess we never had. Or maybe we just missed our chance."

Webb said nothing. Taking a deep breath Mac looked at the ceiling, towards the windows, at the chessboard. And then she looked back at him.

"Clay... I know I don't have the right to ask. I know I ended it and I never looked back. Maybe I don't even have a right to dream about it but ... what you have given me these past two months..." She had to stop. Pulling herself together she bit her lips and started anew. "I - I haven't felt so ... good in a long, long time. Just to be with you was ... wonderful in a way. I - I felt comfortable. Welcomed. Safe."

"Safe?" Webb repeated with a strange laugh. "God, Mac, the only thing I can't give you is safety. I might be retired but sometimes I still work for the Agency. And what you said is true: I made a lot of enemies over the years and I could never promise you that not one day one of them will crawl out of his hole and come after me."

Mac considered this for a moment. "Then I will deal with it when it happens. I just kicked the butt of a considerably younger man and I did it well."

"I never doubted your ability to fight for yourself. But..."

"I'm in love with you, Clay."

Mac looked almost as shocked as Webb at her confession but made a step towards him in sudden determination.

"Three years ago a lot of things happened at the same time. Too many things. It would never have worked out between the two of us. Not then. But a lot has changed since that time. I have changed. I learned..." She smiled wryly, remembering his words. "I learned that life doesn't care if I throw a tantrum. I... Darn it, Clay. This isn't pity. This is all but pity. It - it might sound terribly sappy but ... I - I want a second chance. I ... just want to wake up in the same house as you for the rest of my life. I want these little things you have given me. Like - like riding lessons or playing chess or reading these stupid books for teenagers. I want you. I - I just know it can be different this time."

"You don't know what you are asking for." Webb refused to meet her eyes. His nervous fingers on his legs betraying his inner confusion. "I - I mean look at me. I'm sitting in a wheelchair. There are a lot of thing you don't know about that. What life is like with a disabled person like me."

Mac pursed her lips. "I think I've got a pretty good idea."

"You haven't. There - there are bad days, Mac. Did AJ never tell you about them? Days when I... Sometimes I can't help myself. Sometimes I just... I - I can be a terrible patient."

"Will it be worse than our fight in the hospital?"

Webb blushed. "I - I guess that's hardly possible."

"Then I can handle it." Mac took another step. "Although that cup might end up in your face and not at the wall."

For the first time the ghost of a smile played around Webb's lips. "Yeah, you would really do that."

"You better count on it." She had crossed about half of the room now. "Besides, reaching menopause will be sweet revenge."

"Oh, that's endearing," Webb choked out.

"Yes, isn't it?"

"This is insane."

"That depends on your point of view."

"Mac, what - what my body went through is nothing that gets better in the course of time." Webb sounded almost desperate now. "You said you want me but ... I'm - I'm a candidate for thrombosis, heart attack, organ failure - heck, put on the list whatever you want and you can't be very wrong. I could die in a few years, next month, it could be even tomorrow."

"Then I would be grateful for the day we had." Mac kept moving slowly.

"But I-I-I don't even know if I could perform... Oh, God." Webb hid his face in his hands. "I didn't say that, did I?"

Mac stifled any laugh that threatened to escape her at his so very male problem. "Hmm, sex is nice but not everything. And if I remember correctly you kiss pretty well."

"Mac, for heaven's sake..."

"No promises, Clay. Promises can only be broken. I will not lie to you. I would not be standing here if you were still working for the Company regularly. I couldn't. You were right about my problem with ... control. I am who I am. But I've learned my lessons. I can deal with the secrets of the past, even with the secrets of present and future if I have to. At least I can try." A hint of anger crept into her voice. "Darn it, Clayton, I'm - I'm not asking you to put a ring on my finger. I'm - I'm not after your money although some people will say that. I just want ... this. More than I ever wanted something."

Finally Webb lifted his head out of his hands and looked at her again. And his eyes were only tired.

"And what if I ever wanted to? Put a ring on your finger?"

"What?" whispered Mac.

"This isn't all about you, Sarah. This isn't all about what you want. What about me? What would you do if I ever asked you to marry me? Run away again? Because it's not on your list?" Webb closed his eyes and turned away. "I - I can't, Mac. I can't risk this. I - I spent a lot of time picking up the pieces after you left. And then again after - my accident, after mother..."

"Clay, I-"

"Don't you know I never stopped loving you?"

Involuntarily Mac pressed her hands to her mouth. A moment she couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Looking up at the ceiling she clenched her fists until she felt the nails cut into her palms. She breathed slowly.

"Sometimes I've got ... visions of other people. People who are in danger. I ... see them, their surroundings although it's sometimes symbolic. But I can tell where they are. I found Chloe when she got lost after she had fallen off her horse. I ... was able to locate Harm after he had crashed his F14 into the Atlantic. I always thought it was because of the special bond between us. Chloe, my little sister, and Harm..."

She paused and rubbed a hand across her forehead, ran it through her hair. Webb sat very still.

"And then I had these visions of Commander Aiken after she was murdered. A woman I had worked with, talked to, met for lunch a few times ... but who was really not much more than a stranger to me. And the pictures came more often and more intense and in greater detail than anything I had experience ever before. And somehow that ... took away from what I thought to have with Chloe or Harm. I - I refused to think about it but somehow ... it made it more ordinary. I never had visions of you. Not even after they had told me you were dead. Although I tried."

Webb turned slowly to look at her. Mac made a helpless little gesture.

"I felt you. When Johnson had locked you into that trunk. I ... felt you. I ... felt your pain. My - my right arm seemed to come off, a headache was killing me, it was so hot, everything spun around... I - I check the time, it's a perfect fit. There were no pictures. No mysterious _KNOWING_ as there had usually been. I just ... felt. I have never felt anyone like that before. Not even Harm."

She met his eyes.

"I would not run away. Marriage and I ... have never been a good combination so far and - and yes, I'm a bit scared because this - this between us means too much to me to risk anything. But ... I would not run away."

A long moment Webb simply continued to look at her then he nodded once.

"That's good enough for me."

"Really?"

Suddenly nervous Mac searched his face, afraid of how much she was asking. She saw a tiny smile play around the corner of Webb's mouth.

"Really," confirmed he softly.

And the painful knot in Mac's stomach finally disappeared as she saw the truth in his eyes, his love no longer hidden behind walls of self-control and darkness. Swallowing she made a reluctant step then another. Webb's eyes never left her as she slowly crossed the rest of the room and squatted down in front of him, got on one knee. Their hands met on his thigh, gentle at first, hesitant then clasping tightly around each other.

A smile touched Mac's lips and Webb smiled back and then they were chuckling softly for no particular reason before they grew serious again.

It was impossible to tell who started it but Mac lifted her chin as he bent towards her, both of them angling their heads a bit as they moved closer. An endless moment they paused, staring at each other, their breath a soft caress on the other one's skin. And as their lips finally met in a kiss that answered any silent question that might have been left Mac closed her eyes and suddenly remembered something someone had told her a long, long time ago...

That life can only make you an offer. But the rest is always up to you.

* * *

The End

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Author's note: A _HUDGE_ thank you for your reviews. 


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